IQ  ^ 


LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 

PRINCETON.  N.  J. 

Presented  by 

c^'ne.  C^^-VV^or*.  * 


Division 


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Section 


Latin  American  Stories 


Compiled  by 

GEORGE  H.  TRULL 


Editor  of  “Missionary  Studies  for  the  Sunday  School,” 
First,  Second  and  Third  Series.  Author  of  “Mission- 
ary Methods  for  Sunday  School  Workers,”  “Five 
Missionary  Minutes,”  “Missionary  Programs  and 
Incidents,”  “Talks  on  Latin  America;”  joint 
author  of  “The  Sunday  School  Teacher 
and  the  Program  of  Jesus.” 


Sunday  School  Department 
Board  of  Foreign  Missions  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church  in  the  U.  S.  A. 

New  York  City 


Copyright  1916 


GEORGE  H.  TRULL 


Table  of  Contents 

INTRODUCTION  Page  5 

I.  MEXICO 

Why  a Couple  at  Seventy  Took  a Thirty-mile  Walk.  7 

Why  a Mexican  Lawyer  Changed  His  Mind 8 

A Mexican  Mother’s  Lament 10 

Boy  Life  in  Mexico 12 

Hopeful  Hope  16 

“The  Servant  in  the  House” 17 

A Mexican  Elisha 18 

Pen  Pictures  of  Mexico 19 

A Story  of  Sacrifice 27 

Juan,  Panchita  and  Paz 30 

A Mexican  Girl 37 

II.  GAUTEMALA 

Pills  of  Hate 43 

A Little  Girl  of  Guatemala 43 

Stealing  Jesus  in  Guatemala 45 

A Product  of  the  Gospel 46 

III.  COLOMBIA 

What  She  Did  When  Persecuted 49 

A Secret  About  Colombia 51 

The  Story  of  a Bible  Which  Escaped  the  Fire 52 

A Day  in  Bogota 52 

Felipe,  the  Fisher  Boy 54 

IV,  CHILE 

The  Country  Where  There  Are  More  Pianos  Than 

Bath  Tubs  57 

A Doorkeeper  in  the  House  of  the  Lord 58 

Prayers  That  Cost  Money 60 

Life  in  the  Tenements  in  Chile 61 

The  Conversion  of  a Chilean  Terror 62 

V.  BRAZIL 

The  Worship  of  the  Saints 65 

Out  of  the  Dark  Into  the  Light 66 

The  Scare  Crow  Image 68 

Why  a Man  of  Sixty  Learned  to  Read 69 

Why  So  Paori  Would  Not  Worship  the  Image.. 71 

Afraid  of  the  Bibie 72 

Our  Little  Cousins  in  Brazil 73 

VI.  VENEZUELA 

Moving  Stores  77 

Selling  the  Bible  on  Lake  Maracaibo 78 

VII.  BOLIVIA,  PERU  AND  ECUADOR 

Carrying  the  Bible  to  South  America’s  Darkest  Fields,  81 

VIII.  NEW  MEXICO 

The  Power  of  God’s  Word 83 

Children’s  Day  in  Purgatory 87 

The  Penitentes  of  New  Mexico 87 

Burning  in  Hell 91 

IX.  CUBA 

Child  Life  in  Cuba 93 


Index 


INTRODUCTION  Page  5 

I.  MEXICO 

A Mexican  Elisha 18 

A Mexican  Girl 37 

A Mexican  Mother’s  Lament 10 

A Story  of  Sacrifice 27 

Boy  Life  in  Mexico - 12 

Hopeful  Hope  16 

Juan,  Panchita  and  Paz 30 

Pen  Pictures  of  Mexico 19 

“The  Servant  in  the  House” 17 

Why  a Couple  at  Seventy  Took  a Thirty-mile  Walk.  7 
Why  a Mexican  Lawyer  Changed  His  Mind 8 

II.  GAUTEMALA 

A Little  Girl  of  Guatemala 43 

A Product  of  the  Gospel 46 

Pills  of  Hate 43 

Stealing  Jesus  in  Guatemala 45 

III.  COLOMBIA 

A Day  in  Bogota 52 

A Secret  About  Colombia 51 

Felipe,  the  Fisher  Boy 54 

The  Story  of  a Bible  Which  Escaped  the  Fire 52 

What  She  Did  When  Persecuted 49 

IV.  CHILE 

A Doorkeeper  in  the  House  of  the  Lord 58 

Life  in  the  Tenements  in  Chile 61 

Prayers  That  Cost  Money 60 

The  Conversion  of  a Chilean  Terror 62 

The  Country  Where  There  Are  More  Pianos  Than 
Bath  Tubs  57 

V.  BRAZIL 

Afraid  of  the  Bible 72 

Our  Little  Cousins  in  Brazil 73 

Out  of  the  Dark  Into  the  Light 66 

The  Scare  Crow  Image 68 

The  Worship  of  Saints 65 

Why  a Man  of  Sixty  Learned  to  Read 69 

Why  So  Paori  Would  Not  Worship  the  Image 71 

VI.  VENEZUELA 

Moving  Stores  77 

Selling  the  Bible  on  Lake  Maracaibo 78 

VII.  BOLIVIA.  PERU  AND  ECUADOR 

Carrying  the  Bible  to  South  America’s  Darkest  Fields.  81 

VIII.  NEW  MEXICO 

Burning  in  Hell 91 

Children’s  Day  in  Purgatory 87 

The  Penitentes  of  New  Mexico 87 

The  Power  of  God’s  Word 83 

IX.  CUBA 

Child  Life  in  Cuba 93 


Latin  American  Stories 


Introduction 

The  following  stories  have  been  collected  from  a 
wide  range  in  order  to  depict  conditions  and  needs 
in  Latin  America.  They  are  suitable  for  use  in  any 
grade  in  the  Sunday  school,  for  either  class  or  plat- 
form instruction.  Such  adaptation  as  may  be  neces- 
sary for  the  different  grades  or  departments  should 
be  made. 

The  stories  will  be  particularly  valuable  for  use 
in  connection  with  ‘'Talks  on  Latin  America,'’  by 
George  H.  Trull.  These  Talks  present  the  work  in 
the  fields  in  Latin  America,  where  the  Presbyterian 
Church  is  at  work  through  its  Foreign  Board. 

Latin  American  Stories  will  also  be  enjoyed  as 
a general  reading  book  by  young  people  and  chil- 
dren. 

A.cknowledgment  is  hereby  made  to  the  various 
authors  of  the  different  stories,  to  “Over  Sea  and 
Land,”  and  to  the  Mission  Boards  which  have  pub- 
lished many  of  the  stories  in  leaflet  form. 

George  H.  Trull 

New  York  City, 

September  14,  1916. 


5 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/latinamericanstoOOtrul 


Latin  American  Stories 


I 

MEXICO 

Why  a Couple  at  Seventy  Took  a Thirty-mile 
Walk 

“In  a wooded  valley,  miles  from  any  other  hu- 
man habitation,  lived  Jose  H , an  old  ranchero 

(ranchman),  whose  boys  and  girls  had  grown  up 
and  scattered  far  and  wide,  leaving  him  and  his 
Maria  alone  in  the  smoky  cabin  in  which  genera- 
tions of  his  family  had  lived. 

“One  day  a man  with  a pack  on  his  back 
stopped  at  the  door.  He  had  books  to  sell.  Jose 
was  proud  to  say  he  had  seen  one  before.  Maria 
never  had.  Neither  could  read,  but  there  was 
Manuel,  their  son,  fifteen  miles  away,  who  could. 
The  book  was  purchased,  and  the  two  walked  over 
the  hills  that  evening  to  ask  Manuel  to  read  it  to 
them.  To  their  dismay,  Manuel  said  this  was  a 
Protestant  book,  and  cursed  by  the  priest. 

“'Take  it  out  of  the  house,’  said  Manuel’s  wife, 
with  flashing  eyes.  'Carry  it  home,’  said  Manuel, 
when  the  three  were  out  of  doors;  'I’ll  come  and 
read  it  to  you  next  saint’s  day.’  He  added  in  a 
whisper,  'These  are  God’s  words.’ 

“Jose  and  Maria  trudged  back  again.  They  were 
both  over  seventy  years  old,  but  this  was  not  much 
of  a walk  for  them.  The  days  seemed  long,  but 
Manuel  came  at  last,  bringing  a friend  with  him. 


7 


both  as  eager  as  the  old  couple  to  hear  the  ‘won- 
derful words  of  life.’  They  would  not  have  dared 
to  read  them  in  their  own  village.  This  was  the 
first  of  a series  of  such  readings  in  that  secluded  old 
cabin.  Their  numbers  increased  until  its  one  room 
was  filled  at  each  meeting.  Men  and  women,  some 
of  them  as  old  as  Jose  and  Maria,  with  children  of 
various  ages,  sat  huddled  together  on  the  floor,  lis- 
tening, often  with  streaming  eyes,  as  Manuel,  by 
the  light  of  a tallow  candle,  read  the  story  of  Jesus 
and  His  love  in  the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke.  After  some 
months  of  precious  privilege,  this  little  company  of 
believers,  for  such  they  had  become,  were  attacked 
by  a mob  instigated  by  the  parish  priest  from  Man- 
uel’s village.  Stones  were  thrown  in  at  the  open 
door,  killing  one  person  and  injuring  several  more. 
The  meetings  were  temporarily  broken  up,  but  in 
time  this  became  one  of  the  numerous  small  con- 
gregations scattered  throughout  the  country.  These 
are  often  unexpectedly  discovered  by  the  mission- 
aries, and  ministered  to  by  them  as  they  have 
opportunity.” 

— Quoted  in  “Home  Life  in  Lands  Not  Christian,” 
Mexico. 


Why  a Mexican  Lawyer  Changed  His  Mind 

Alberto  came  to  our  school  to  matriculate  as  a day 
scholar.  His  father  brought  him  and  begged  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to  enroll  as  a student,  but  that  he 
must  not  study  the  Bible,  which  was  required  of  all 
our  students.  After  several  interviews  and  many 


8 


hours  spent  over  it,  he  finally  decided  to  leave  him  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  he  must  have  a daily  lesson  in 
the  Word  of  God.  The  class  that  he  entered  was 
studying  the  life  of  Gideon.  Gideon  appeals  to  any 
normal  boy,  and  so  he  appealed  very  strongly  to  Al- 
berto. He  borrowed  a Bible  from  the  desk  each  day, 
and  his  teacher  reported  that  he  always  had  his  lesson 
prepared  and  a great  many  verses  memorized. 

By  the  time  the  class  was  ready  to  take  up  the  life 
of  Samuel,  Alberto  kept  the  Bible  in  his  desk  instead 
of  returning  it  to  me  each  night;  by  permission,  of 
course.  He  had  not  gotten  very  far  in  that  wonder- 
ful life  when  he  asked  me  what  a Bible  would  cost, 
showing  me  the  kind  of  binding  he  wished.  I told 
him,  and  he  asked  me  to  sell  him  one.  This  I did. 
I wrote  his  name  and  the  date  in  it.  He  wanted  to 
take  it  home  that  day  at  noon,  which  was  Monday. 
So  he  asked  me  to  wrap  it  up  for  him  in  paper.  Boys 
were  often  hooted  at  for  carrying  Bibles,  and  often 
times  the  Bible  disappeared  from  beneath  their  arms 
before  they  reached  home.  Alberto  came  back  with- 
out his  Bible,  and  my  heart  sank;  for  many  of  our 
children  had  Bibles  confiscated  from  them  the  first 
day  they  went  home  with  them.  The  Bible  didn’t 
come  back.  I inquired  of  the  teacher  how  Alberto 
was  reciting  his  Bible,  and  she  said,  “He  always 
knows  that  lesson  better  than  any  other.”  So  I 
prayed  that  wherever  the  Bible  was,  it  might  be  bring- 
ing blessing  into  some  one’s  life. 

The  week  passed  and  on  Friday  morning  the 
knocker  on  the  door  sounded  just  as  we  were  open- 
ing school.  I went,  and  there  stood  Alberto’s  father. 


9 


and  with  him  his  five  beautiful  little  girls,  ranging 
in  age  from  five  to  fourteen.  On  his  face  was  a gen- 
erous smile,  and  tucked  securely  under  his  arm,  with- 
out any  paper  covering,  was  that  Blessed  Book.  He 
said,  '‘Senorita,  did  you  notice  that  Alberto  did  not 
bring  his  Bible  back?”  Of  course,  I told  him  I had, 
and  then  he  asked,  “What  did  you  think?”  I re- 
plied, “I  was  afraid  that  it  was  confiscated,  but  I did 
not  ask  the  boy.”  “Yes,  I confiscated  it.  I am  a law- 
yer, as  you  know.  I had  never  seen  a Bible.  My 
wife  was  nearly  heart-broken  that  her  son  was  in  this 
Protestant  school,  and  so  when  Alberto  brought  home 
this  Bible  I decided  I would  find  out  what  it  was  that 
he  was  studying.  I took  it  to  my  office,  and  I stopped 
for  nothing  this  whole  week.  I started  with  the  first 
verse  of  Matthew,  and  last  night  I finished  with  the 
last  verse  of  Revelation.  Now  I have  brought  my 
little  girls,  for  I said  to  my  wife,  if  that  is  the  kind 
of  religious  training  my  boy  is  getting  I shall  not  let 
my  girls  be  cheated  out  of  it.  Here  they  are.  Give 
them  each  a Bible  and  teach  them  just  as  much  about 
Jesus  as  you  possibly  can.” 

— By  Blanche  B.  Bdnine. 


A Mexican  Mother’s  Lament 

One  evening  very  late,  as  I was  coming  home 
from  making  a call,  I saw  a woman  slip  out  of  the 
house  and  crawl  along  the  wall  of  her  corrall  and 
pour  something  out  of  vessel  on  the  ground.  I won- 
dered what  she  was  doing.  Something  in  her  man- 


10 


ner  told  me  it  was,  in  her  mind,  almost  an  offering 
that  she  was  making. 

So  the  next  day,  with  my  Bible  under  my  arm  and 
a bag  of  loaf  sugar  and  a face  with  a smile  on  it,  I 
walked  up  to  the  enclosure,  and,  calling  the  children, 
gave  them  the  sugar.  The  mother,  seeing  me,  in- 
vited me  inside.  I went,  of  course.  Pretty  soon  I 
asked  her  to  let  me  see  the  baby.  You  are  always 
sure  there  is  a baby ; but,  in  this  case,  her  face  fell  and 
she  said,  “My  babies  died;  they  were  twins.'’  I sym- 
pathized with  her  and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

She  didn’t  know;  but  added,  with  an  awful  pain 
in  her  voice  as  she  whispered  to  me,  “Senorita,  they 
were  not  baptized.” 

I said,  “That  doesn’t  matter,  Senora,  they  are  in 
Heaven  waiting  for  you.” 

She  immediately  said,  “Oh,  no,  Senorita,  don’t 
you  know  that  unbaptized  babies  go  to  another  place, 
where  they  burn  up  all  the  time?  But  we  Mexican 
mothers  know  what  to  do  for  them.  We  bury  them 
near  the  house  where  we  can  get  at  them,  and  then 
at  night  we  pour  water  over  their  graves,  and  that 
keeps  their  little  eyes  from  drying  out  and  their  little 
throats  don’t  burn  so  badly.  Otherwise  they  would 
thirst  forever  and  forever.  My  husband  doesn’t  be- 
lieve that;  but  the  priest  says  so,  and  so  we  do  all  we 
can ; but  oh,  my  heart  longs  to  see  my  babies,  and  oh, 
why  did  they  die  before  I could  get  them  baptized?” 

I opened  my  Bible  and  read  her  the  story  of  Jesus 
with  the  little  children,  and  she  listened;  but  then 
she  said,  “Yes,  yes,  that  was  for  the  baptized  ones, 
but  not  for  mine.” 


II 


I assured  her  finally  that  I was  right,  but  she 
looked  at  me,  and  said,  “If  that  is  true,  won’t  you  go 
and  tell  it  to  all  the  other  Mexican  women  before 
they  lose  their  babies,  for  that  can’t  mean  mine 
now?” 

When  I think  of  the  American  mother,  sure  that 
her  departed  baby  is  safe  in  Heaven  and  waiting  for 
her,  my  whole  soul  cries  out  that  the  Mexican  mother 
shall  have  the  same  joyous  expectation,  too.  It  isn’t 
fair  that  she  has  never  heard  that  her  precious  baby 
is  safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus. 

— By  Blanche  B.  Bonine. 


Boy  Life  in  Mexico 

Our  next  door  neighbor,  Mexico,  is  a beautiful 
and  interesting  country  to  study  and  most  enchanting 
in  many  respects.  As  we  learn  more  about  the  life 
of  the  boys  and  girls  and  men  and  women  we  shall 
see  it  is  not  all  romance  and  beauty. 

Suppose  we  take  the  life  of  a rich  boy  whom  we 
will  call  Antonio,  the  name  of  the  favorite  children’s 
saint.  When  he  was  born  his  mamacita  (mother) 
put  a saint’s  tooth  on  his  head  to  keep  off  sickness 
and  evil.  She  also  put  a little  rosary  about  his  neck 
to  prevent  the  evil  one  from  kissing  him  and  thus 
making  the  baby  wicked.  Every  morning  and  eve- 
ning he  was  sprinkled  with  holy  water.  When  he 
was  six  years  old  a boy  was  hired  to  be  his  servant  I 
and  go  everywhere  with  him,  carrying  his  books  or  ! 


12 


playthings  and  obeying  his  slightest  wish.  Indeed, 
a rich  boy  is  never  allowed  to  go  anywhere  alone. 
Sweetmeats  he  may  have  in  abundance,  and  the  result 
is  Antonio  is  pale  and  lazy. 

Antonio’s  home  is  a low,  flat  house  of  adobe, 
painted  in  colors  and  built  around  an  open  court, 
which  is  gay  with  fountains,  plants,  flowers  and  birds. 
Everyone  who  can  afford  it  has  a court  or  “patio” 
of  this  kind.  The  flat  roof  has  a wall  about  the  edge 
and  upon  this  roof  the  family  sleep  in  hot  weather — 
not  a bad  plan,  is  it? 

Antonio’s  father  has  a large  farm  surrounded 
by  a hedge  of  cactus.  Here  nearly  all  the  food  of 
the  family  is  raised — coffee,  fruit,  vegetables,  sugar- 
cane, as  well  as  live  stock;  ponies,  of  course,  for 
nearly  every  boy  of  means  owns  a pony  or  burro  and 
learns  early  to  ride  and  throw  the  lasso. 

On  Sunday  and  on  feast  days  he  is  taken  to 
church,  where  he  is  taught  to  repeat  prayers  and 
bring  gifts  to  the  Virgin  Mary  and  to  so  many  other 
saints  that  he  scarcely  knows  who  is  the  true  God. 
If  he  has  a toothache  he  prays  to  one  saint,  if  a fever 
it  is  to  another  saint,  another  for  rheumatism,  and 
so  on. 

When  eight  or  ten  years  old  he  is  confirmed,  an 
important  but  mysterious  ceremony.  He  is  taught 
no  reverence  for  sacred  things  and  most  of  the 
priests  are  unworthy  of  reverence.  He  is  never  al- 
lowed to  see  a Bible  and  is  taught  that  no  one  can 
pray  to  God  but  the  priests.  If  he  wishes  God  to 
bless  him  or  forgive  his  sins  he  must  go  to  the  priest 
and  pay  for  it,  then  the  priest  will  pray  for  him! 


13 


Catholics,  yes,  but  not  such  as  we  know  in  the 
United  States.  In  their  cathedrals  we  should  see 
gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones  everywhere. 
Images  of  God  and  of  the  angels  and  the  saints  are 
made  in  solid  gold,  yet  all  about  a miserable,  poor 
people,  hardly  knowing  the  meaning  of  the  prayers 
they  are  saying.  “Gold  all  about  them  w^hich  they 
cannot  touch  and  no  golden  love  of  God  inside  to 
lift  them  above  it,  theirs  is  not  a live  Catholic  re- 
ligion.” 

Sunday  afternoon  is  the  favorite  day  for  seeing 
the  bullfight,  and  blood-thirsty  and  cruel  as  the  sight 
is,  boys  are  taught  to  love  it. 

But  the  rich  families  are  few.  What  of  the  many 
who  are  poor?  Let  us  look  at  little  Juan  (pro- 
nounced Hwan).  His  home  was  a little  house 
shaped  like  a tent,  made  of  wooden  rafters  and 
thatched  with  straw.  It  had  no  windows,  but  only 
a door  without  hinges,  just  lifted  into  place  at  night 
and  set  aside  in  the  daytime.  A little  open  stove 
with  a few  coals  was  all  that  gave  warmth  in  the 
coolest  weather.  In  babyhood  he  rode  on  his  moth- 
er’s back  when  she  went  out.  When  she  went  to 
the  stream  to  do  her  washing  he  went,  too,  and 
waited  while  the  clothes  were  washed  on  the  stones 
and  dried  upon  the  bushes.  Later,  as  he  lived  in 
the  country,  he  rode  on  the  mule’s  back  with  father, 
and  perhaps  one  or  two  other  children.  Clothes  were 
no  matter.  A few  rags,  if  any,  were  all  he  expected. 

When  old  enough  to  begin  to  help  father  or  moth- 
er, he  was  a little  fruit  pedler  trudging  about  with  a 
tray  of  fruit  on  his  head.  Sometimes  he  was  a milk 


14 


boy  going  from  door  to  door  with  a jar  of  milk. 
Later  he  was  a water  pedler  with  a pigskin  full  of 
water  on  his  back.  When  he  had  saved  enough  to 
invest  in  a barrel  and  a donkey  and  cart,  then  was 
he  prosperous  indeed ! Other  boys  hired  out  as 
“peons’*  to  the  wealthy  families.  The  rich  boy  de- 
spised work,  but  Juan  must  work  some  of  the  time 
at  least. 

There  are  schools  in  the  cities,  but  they  are  not 
for  such  boys  as  Juan.  Only  the  few  can  afford  to 
pay  for  the  education  of  boys,  and  certainly  not  for 
girls.  Religious  ceremonies,  too,  belong  to  the  rich 
and  not  to  the  poor.  When  Juan’s  parents  had  saved 
up  a little  money  they  took  him  to  a priest  to  be 
baptized.  If  the  sum  was  enough,  well  and  good; 
if  not,  they  were  sent  away  until  more  could  be 
brought.  But  Juan’s  parents  were  not  poor  com- 
pared with  many,  many  others.  Often  two  or  three 
families  live  huddled  together  in  a one-room  hut,  and 
the  children,  ragged  and  dirty,  are  sent  out  to  spend 
the  time  in  begging.  Indeed,  most  of  them  would  far 
rather  beg  than  work! 

Two  very  bad  things  most  Mexican  children  learn 
— no  matter  where  they  live  or  whether  they  are  rich 
or  poor — intemperance  and  dishonesty.  The  Mexi- 
can drink  is  called  pulque  and  is  as  bad  as  any  other 
intoxicating  drink. 

Mexican  children  are  as  fond  of  play  as  any  the 
world  over.  Two  popular  plays  are  “fighting 
roosters”  and  “throwing  the  barrel.”  The  first  is 
played  by  holding  the  right  foot  up  behind  with  the 
right  hand  and  striking  the  enemy  with  the  knee 


IS 


while  hopping  around  on  the  left  foot.  The  one  who 
falls  is  defeated.  Throwing  the  barrel  is  played  by 
all  boys,  big  and  little.  It  consists  of  tossing  a barrel- 
shaped toy  tied  to  the  end  of  a stick  and  catching  it 
on  the  sharpened  end,  a trick  requiring  some  little 
skill.  Another  play  especially  popular  at  Easter  time, 
is  burning  effigies  of  Judas.  The  little  figures  known 
as  Judases  are  pieces  of  fireworks  and  go  off  with  a 
bang  and  a fizz. 

The  little  boys  and  girls  of  Mexico  are  bright 
and  responsive  and  well  repay  time  and  sacrifice  to 
teach  them.  The  need  of  more  schools  and  more 
teachers  is  great,  and  as  the  opposition  of  the  priests 
is  lessening  there  is  a large  opportunity  to  teach  them 
the  true  gospel  and  open  the  Bible  to  them. 

— J.  T.  M.,  Women’s  Board  of  Missions  of  the 
Interior. 

Hopeful  Hope 

Esperanza  (meaning  hope)  was  a pupil  in  the 
Presbyterian  Normal  School  for  Girls  at  San  Angel, 
a suburb  of  Mexico  City.  She  appreciated  the  bless- 
ings of  the  “glorious  gospel  of  the  blessed  God,” 
which,  remember,  “was  committed  to  my  trust’  and 
yours,  so  much  that  she  could  not  keep  it  all  to  her- 
self as  you  and  I can  and  do,  but  must  pass  it  on  to 
others.  She  wrote  home  to  a younger  sister  (we  saw 
the  letter  with  our  own  eyes),  “Ask  father  to  let 
you  come  to  school  with  me  next  year.  We  will  both 
pray  our  Hea/venly  Father,  also,  that  He  will  help  us, 
so  that  you  may  come.  You  do  not  always  wish  to 


i6 


be  a mere  drudge,  grinding,  grinding  corn  all  day, 
do  you?  We  will  pray  much  that  you  may  come  to 
school.”  »The  pathos  and  yearning  in  that  letter  echo 
the  desire  of  many  a Mexican  girl’s  heart.  The 
Mexican  situation  may  seem  hopeless.  Such  girls  are 
not.  Your  part  of  the  commission  is  to  make  schools 
possible  for  all  the  sisters  of  every  Esperanza  in 
Mexico.  Our  part  is  to  go,  teach,  preach  and  live 
the  glorious  gospel,  on  the  native  heath  of  every 
Esperanza. 

— From  “Studies  in  Life,”  by  Mrs.  William 
Wallace. 

“The  Servant  in  the  House” 

Her  name  was  Rafaela.  She  came,  a mere  child, 
to  help  with  the  washing,  the  baking,  and  the  stewing, 
at  Coyoacan  Manse  some  years  ago.  Coyoacan  is 
just  outside  of  Mexico  City.  Many  a time  Rafaela 
was  reprimanded  by  her  only  living  relatives,  a fa- 
ther and  a sister,  because  she  would  read  her  Bible; 
because  she  persisted  in  attending  the  “cultos”  or 
church  services  of  us  heretics.  She  not  only  dared 
to  like  us,  but  she  liked  our  religion  as  well.  She 
finally  brought  matters  to  a head  by  uniting  with  our 
church.  Rafaela  was  persecuted  but  not  forsaken: 
being  persecuted  she  suffered:  but  she  was  blessed 
when  her  father  persecuted  her  and  she  prayed  for 
that  sister  who  likewise  persecuted  her.  Later  the 
father  died,  but  not  until  he  had  become  reconciled 
to  his  heretic  daughter.  One  cannot  fight  alone,  and 
the  sister,  too,  finally  adjusted  herself  to  the  trying 


17 


circumstances  as  best  she  could.  Though  she  never 
became  enthusiastic  over  her  only  sister  renouncing 
the  faith  of  her  fathers  and  becoming  a despised 
Protestant,  she  did  at  least  cease  her  persecution. 
All  doubters  of  a saving  grace,  all  doubters  of  the 
power  of  the  everlasting  gospel  to  transform  Mexi- 
can and  all  other  lives,  are  cordially  invited  to  come 
to  our  home  and  see  Rafaela  with  their  own  skeptical 
eyes. 

— From  “Studies  in  Life,’'  by  Mrs.  William 
Wallace. 


A Mexican  Elisha 

A man  of  God!  our  own  dear  old  Dr.  Arcadio 
Morales,  pastor  of  our  largest  church,  “Divino  Sal- 
vador” (or  Divine  Saviour)  in  Mexico  City.  When 
we  see  this  Mexican  Elisha  coming  our  way,  we  al- 
ways murmur  to  ourselves,  “Let  us  make  a little 
chamber  on  the  wall;  and  let  us  set  for  him  there  a 
bed,  and  a table,  and  a stool,  and  a candlestick;  and 
it  shall  be,  when  he  cometh  to  us,  that  he  shall  turn 
in  thither.”  (II  Kings,  4:10.)  Dr.  Morales  is  our 
“Moody  of  Mexico.”  He  has  perhaps  been  the  means 
of  bringing  more  souls  into  the  kingdom  than  any 
man  on  earth.  He  was  converted  in  his  youth  by 
simply  reading  the  Bible,  his  God  book,  as  he  calls 
it.  He  read  alone  for  seven  years  before  he  heard  a 
Bible  sermon  or  knew  anything  about  an  evangelical 
church.  He  says  that  the  first  time  he  read  the  Ser- 
mon on  the  Mount  he  was  tremendously  impressed. 
Think  of  never  reading  those  blessed  “blesseds”  until 
you  were  in  your  teens!  How  would  it  feel?  Dr. 


18 


Morales’  work  among  the  prisoners  of  the  Mexican 
penitentiaries  has  been  only  short  of  the  marvelous. 
For  years  he  has  carried  tlie  Message  to  the  worst 
of  criminals  and  men  as  vile  as  the  cells  into  which 
they  are  thrust.  When  unable  to  go  in  person  he 
writes  letters  to  those  who  can  read.  As  these  must 
all  pass  through  the  hands  of  the  prison  authorities, 
a few  Mexican  jailors  have  had  the  same  experience 
as  he  who  guarded  Paul  and  Silas. 

— From  “Studies  in  Life,”  by  Mrs.  William 
Wallace. 

PEN  PICTURES  OF  MEXICO* 

By  Mrs.  D.  B.  Wells 
Only  a Mexican  Woman 

She  was  sitting  on  the  ground,  leaning  against 
the  brick  wall  of  the  railroad  station  house  in  Mon- 
terey, one  of  Mexico’s  old  women,  my  first  ac- 
quaintance. Her  gray  hair  was  uncombed  and  hung 
matted  over  her  shoulders;  her  dress  was  ragged 
and  dirty;  her  mouth  was  closely  covered  with  a 
piece  of  soiled  cloth  lest  the  fresh  morning  air 
should  enter  her  body  and  do  her  harm.  Her  face 
was  wrinkled  and  dirty,  her  hands  and  bare  feet  the 
same;  and  her  eyes  looked  off  into  the  distance  with 
the  dull  motionless  stare  of  indifference  and  hope- 
lessness. While  waiting  for  my  personal  conduc- 
tor, I went  out  to  her,  with  no  medium  of  commu- 
nication but  a smile  and  a small  coin.  Neither 


* Adapted  from  “A  Bit  of  Mexico  Personally  Obserred.’ 
ig 


seemed  effective  or  was  accepted.  I could  get  no 
response.  She  glanced  at  me  a moment  and  then 
resumed  her  gazing  into  the  far-away.  Hardly  a 
muscle  had  moved.  Weeks  after  I saw  her  still 
sitting  in  the  same  place  in  the  same  position,  still 
gazing.  I wondered, — had  she  -not  stirred  all  those 
weeks?  And  yet,  why  should  she?  Life  held  so  little 
of  hope  or  joy  or  even  comfort  for  her,  an  old  woman. 
A heathen?  Perhaps,  and  one  of  so  many. 


Carmencita 

I want  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Carmencita,  one 
of  the  girls  in  the  Boarding  School  at  Saltillo.  It 
was  just  sunset  as  I stepped  over  the  threshold  of 
the  school  one  evening  into  its  flower-filled  patio. 
They  were  expecting  me,  and  ranged  round  three 
sides  of  the  patio  were  the  hundred  or  more  girls 
of  the  school,  who  at  once  began  to  sing  in  greet- 
ing the  Mexican  National  Hymn,  said  to  be  the 
most  artistically  beautiful  of  all  national  hymns, 
while  one  girl  came  forward  and  laid  in  my  arms 
a great  bunch  of  roses,  kissing  my  hand  with  all 
the  grace  of  an  accomplished  courtier.  Later  dur- 
ing family  prayers,  I supposed  of  course  that  the 
principal  of  the  school  would  be  the  one  to  offer 
prayer.  Instead  I heard  a voice  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room  which  profoundly  impressed  me  by  its 
sincerity  and  devotion  of  tone,  since  of  course  I 
could  not  understand  the  words.  I was  told  the 
speaker  was  a member  of  the  Senior  Class,  by  name 


20 


Carmencita,  “little  song/’  the  girl  of  the  roses.  I 
saw  her  frequently  during  my  week’s  stay,  a girl  of 
quiet,  dignified  presence,  not  handsome  but  attract- 
ive, always  neatly  and  tastefully  dressed,  of  large 
influence  with  the  other  girls.  Sunday  evening  she 
led  the  C.  E.  meeting  in  such  a way  as  to  command 
my  admiration  and  appreciation  of  its  value.  This 
is  a three-picture  story.  This  is  the  first  picture. 

The  second  picture:  One  day  I was  taken  to  a 
little  place  up  in  the  mountains  that  I might  see  vil- 
lage work.  Slowly  we  climbed  up  the  range  on  the 
narrow  gauge  railroad  in  the  little  narrow-gauge 
coaches  in  which  both  men  and  women  were  smok- 
ing freely.  I was  told  that  there  was  but  one  place 
in  all  Mexico  where  smoking  was  forbidden,  a 
Pullman  car.  I certainly  saw  people  smoking 
everywhere,  even  in  the  great  Cathedral  in  Mexico 
City. 

In  the  course  of  our  calls  about  town  we  visited 
an  old  shoemaker.  He  began  pleading  with  my 
companion,  the  principal  of  the  school,  to  send 
them  a teacher  for  their  school.  “Our  pastor  is 
gone ; our  teacher  is  gone ; we  have  no  school.  Our 
children  are  out  on  the  street;  they  do  not  learn 
any  good.  If  you  send  us  a teacher,  I will  board 
her  for  nothing.”  I could  appreciate  his  earnest 
desire.  The  final  call  took  us  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  village,  across  a barnyard,  to  a queer  sort  of  a 
shed  built  of  cornstalks,  without  windows,  called 
in  the  vernacular,  “a  jackal,”  only  pronounce  the 
j as  h.  A man  and  a woman  came  running  out, 
whose  faces  beamed  with  joy  when  they  saw  my 


21 


friend.  We  were  invited  in;  but  the  one  room  al- 
ready entertained  a burro,  some  pigs,  and  number- 
less chickens,  making  it  seem  overfull  without  addi- 
tions. So  the  woman  ran  across  to  a neighbor’s 
and  borrowed  two  chairs  which  she  placed  for  us 
outside  among  the  cornstalks.  They  seemed  de- 
lighted to  see  my  companion.  As  we  left  I asked 
who  they  were,  and  why  I was  taken  to  see  them. 

‘‘You  admired  Carmencita  down  at  the  school?” 

“Indeed  I did.” 

“Well,  those  are  her  parents  and  that  is  her 
home.” 

There  flashed  into  my  mind  that  verse  in  Isaiah, 
“The  hole  of  the  pit  whence  ye  are  digged.” 

“But  what  of  her  future  ? Is  it  a blessing  to  her 
to  educate  her  so  far  above  her  parents  and  her 
surroundings  ?” 

“Wait  and  see.” 

The  third  picture:  The  following  year  a well- 
written  letter  in  English  from  Carmencita  told  me 
she  had  returned  to  her  home  after  her  graduation ; 
had  opened  the  village  school  the  old  shoemaker 
wanted;  was  helping  her  parents  to  build  them- 
selves a little  home;  was  assistant  to  the  pastor  in 
Sunday  School,  C.  E.  meetings,  and  Mothers’ 
Meetings;  and  was  so  very  happy  in  all  her  work. 
She  wanted  me  to  buy  for  her  an  organ  for  their 
church,  enclosing  the  money  which  had  all  been 
raised  under  her  direction.  From  others  I learned 
that  at  the  time  of  her  graduation  the  Government 
had  offered  her  a position  in  the  public  schools  at 
a salary  three  times  as  much  as  she  was  receiving 


22 


in  her  own  village.  She  declined  the  offer  out  of 
filial  love  and  a sense  of  gratitude  to  those  unknown 
friends  in  the  United  States  who  had  supported  her 
during  her  school  life,  since  in  the  Government  posi- 
tion she  could  not  teach  of  Christ. 

The  Duchess 

Yes,  there  was  the  ‘‘Duchess’'  as  she  was  called 
in  the  Girls’  Boarding  School  in  Mexico  City,  an- 
other splendid  school  with  so  wonderful  a record  of 
accomplishment.  The  Duchess,  a little  girl  of  ten 
or  twelve,  and  her  mother  appeared  one  day  at  the 
school,  having  walked  down  from  the  mountains 
almost  a hundred  miles,  only  to  be  told  that  there 
was  no  room,  even  though  the  mother  carefully 
opened  her  little  bundle  and  proffered  ten  Mexican 
dollars.  They  went  away  with  faces  looking  back- 
ward. The  next  year  they  came  again,  and  again 
they  went  away  with  backward  glances.  The  third 
year  they  came,  long  before  the  opening  of  the 
school,  and  the  ten  dollars  had  grown  to  fifty.  The 
mother  went  up  the  mountain  track  alone,  looking 
backward,  but  happy.  At  first  the  girl  must  be 
watched  every  night  to  see  that  she  went  to  bed 
properly,  else  she  would  be  found  still  dressed, 
curled  up  on  the  floor  under  the  bed.  She  liked  it 
better  that  way.  When  I saw  her,  after  six  years 
of  training,  a member  of  the  Senior  Class,  tall, 
finely  developed,  graceful,  the  leader  of  the  whole 
school,  trusted  alike  by  teachers  and  comrades,  she 
seemed  to  me  the  embodiment  of  sweet,  true,  noble 
Mexican  womanhood. 


23 


Won  by  the  Word 


He  had  been  living  in  a small  town  south  of 
Mexico  City.  For  several  days  he  noticed  that 
his  small  purchases  of  family  supplies  were 
wrapped  in  the  leaves  of  a book  which  the  merchant 
tore  from  its  covers,  always  making  the  sign  of  the 
Cross.  The  man’s  curiosity  was  roused,  and  he 
began  to  read  them.  To  his  surprise  and  rather  to 
his  disapproval  they  proved  to  be  leaves  from  a 
Protestant  Bible.  He  tried  to  stop  reading  them, 
but  could  not  let  them  alone.  Finally  he  asked  the 
merchant  where  he  had  obtained  the  book,  and 
was  told  he  had  taken  it  away  from  one  of  his 
children  whom  he  had  allowed  to  attend  a Mission 
school.  He  regarded  the  book  as  dangerous  and 
diabolical;  but  his  habits  of  thrift  decided  him  not 
to  burn  it  but  to  use  it  as  wrapping  paper.  The 
customer  bought  the  remaining  leaves,  read  with 
increasing  conviction,  and  became  a most  earnest 
Protestant  Christian.  Thus  another  instance  of  the 
fulfilment  of  the  promise,  ‘‘My  Word  shall  not  re- 
turn unto  Me  void.” 


Images  in  Mexico 

Images  in  Mexico,  and  in  fact  in  all  of  Latin 
America,  are  grotesque.  The  Saviour  and  the 
Saints  are  represented  in  every  style  of  clothes, 
from  that  -worn  by  the  wild  Indians  to  suits  finished 
in  the  most  extravagant  and  fashionable  patterns— 
from  mere  rags  to  velvet  mantles  embroidered  with 


24 


gold  and  jewels.  Offerings  of  thanksgiving  consist 
of  fine  clothes  and  costly  pieces  of  jewelry. 

These  images  are  regarded  by  the  people  with 
superstitious  reverence.  To  doubt  their  miraculous 
power  is  regarded  as  little  less  than  blasphemy. 

The  Virgin  Mary,  whose  images  are  by  far  the 
most  numerous,  is  called  by  various  names  accord- 
ing to  the  places  where  she  is  said  to  have  appeared. 
The  most  famous  is  the  “Virgin  of  Guadalupe,” 
proclaimed  the  patron  saint  of  Mexico  by  Pope 
Clement  VII.  It  is  said  that  the  Virgin  appeared 
on  two  occasions  to  the  pious  Indian  Juan  Diego 
on  the  barren  mountain  of  Tepeyac.  She  told  him 
that  she  was  to  become  the  patron  saint  of  the 
Mexican  Indians,  and  ordered  him  to  tell  the 
Bishop  that  she  wished  to  be  worshiped  at  the  foot 
of  that  mountain.  The  Bishop  required  Juan  to 
give  a token  of  his  mission,  so  the  Virgin  appeared 
to  him  the  third  time  and  told  him  to  ascend  the 
mountain,  cut  roses,  and  bring  them  to  her.  Al- 
though the  mountain  was  perfectly  barren,  he 
found  the  roses,  and  brought  them  to  her.  She 
threw  them  into  his  tilma  or  mantle  and  said,  “Re- 
turn once  more  to  the  Bishop  and  tell  him  that 
these  flowers  are  the  credentials  of  your  mission.” 
“When  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  the 
prelate,  he  unfolded  his  tilma  to  present  the  roses, 
when  lo,  there  appeared  on  the  garment  that  pic- 
ture of  the  Virgin,  which  now,  after  centuries,  still 
exists  without  having  suffered  the  slightest  injury.” 
The  church  was  built,  and  is  the  most  famous  in 
Mexico.  The  sacred  picture,  in  a frame  of  pure 


25 


gold,  is  on  the  high  altar,  receiving  the  adoration 
of  multitudes.  Many  of  the  men  and  women  of 
the  countr}^  are  called  “Guadalupe,”  and  the  image 
is  found  in  almost  every  house.  On  the  anniver- 
sary of  this  supposed  miracle,  a great  festival  is 
held  and  attended  by  all,  including  the  archbishop 
and  high  officials,  and  orations  are  delivered  by  dis- 
tinguished men  in  commemoration  of  the  event. 

Another  celebrated  image  is  “The  Virgin  of 
Remedios.”  On  the  morning  after  the  noche  triste 
(the  night  when  the  Spanish  were  expelled  from 
the  Capital),  one  of  the  invaders  found  a small  doll 
in  a maguey  plant,  and  proclaimed  it  to  be  a mirac- 
ulous image  of  the  Virgin,  and  a token  of  success. 
Afterwards  a church  was  built  on  the  spot,  and  the 
little  lady,  dressed  in  satins  embroidered  with 
pearls,  emeralds  and  diamonds,  was  called  the  “Vir- 
gin of  Remedios,”  or  “remedies,”  because  she  ap- 
peared at  so  critical  an  hour.  To  this  day  she  is  the 
patroness  of  all  in  misfortune.  She  is  hired  out  by 
the  day  in  times  of  distress,  often  for  enormous 
sums.  Images  of  less  power  can  be  had  for  less 
money,  and  a sick  bed  is  not  infrequently  surround- 
ed by  a number  of  them.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
disease,  if  the  people  are  poor,  a cheap  image  is 
hired,  perhaps  for  twenty-five  cents,  but  as  the 
gravity  of  the  case  increases  more  powerful  saints 
must  be  brought  at  any  cost. 

—Question  Book  Series,  Mexico.  Pages  14-16. 


26 


A STORY  OF  SACRIFICE 


It  was  the  week  before  Christmas.  Miss  Turn- 
er’s heart  was  heavy.  The  year  had  been  a terrible 
one.  No  crop  had  been  made.  People  were  starv- 
ing from  want  of  food.  They  had  pawned  every 
article  of  furniture  and  nearly  all  their  clothing. 
Here  was  the  happy  Christmas  season,  and  abso- 
lutely nothing  with  which  to  have  a treat  for  the 
little  Sunday  school  children. 

However,  a Christmas  program  was  in  prepara- 
tion. The  children  were  so  happy,  for  a Mexican 
child  loves  a fiesta  of  any  kind.  Then,  too,  there 
were  hordes  of  other  little  children  on  the  streets, 
even  poorer  than  these.  They  would  not  dare  at- 
tend the  Christmas  celebration  at  the  Protestant 
Church. 

How  could  one  help?  And  then  the  missionary 
had  a happy  thought.  Why  not  invite  the  Sunday 
school  children  to  repeat  their  program  in  the  school 
house  and  invite  all  these  other  children  to  attend? 
It  was  thought  that  two  hundred  could  be  accom- 
modated. Invitation  cards  were  given  out  only  to 
the  very  poorest  children. 

As  the  Christmas  day  approached  the  missionary 
felt  she  wanted  to  give  them  a feast.  Not  even  the 
little  Protestant  children  would  expect  anything, 
for  they  had  never  gotten  it.  But  this  was  a very 
bad  year  and  she  did  want  them  to  have  a fine  day. 

She  planned  for  candy!  Not  a person  in  that 
town  had  seen  candy  for  months.  And  she  dared 


27 


to  hope  for  oranges.  And  there  had  not  been  an 
orange  in  town  for  weeks!  And  then  her  better 
sense  told  her  to  get  some  corn  to  make  some  tor- 
tillas. (Pronounce  tor-te-yas.)  These  are  to  be 
Mexican  table  what  bread  is  to  ours.  How  would 
you  like  to  go  to  a Christmas  festival  and  receive  a 
piece  of  dry  bread?  But  were  you  a Mexican  child, 
you  would  jump  with  joy  at  the  thought  of  it. 

Miss  Turner  sent  a man  out  to  visit  the  ranches 
to  buy  oranges.  She  begged  a rich  man  in  the  town 
to  sell  her  some  corn.  From  a wholesale  grocer  she 
bought  chocolate  and  sugar. 

Where  did  she  get  the  money?  She  said,  “That 
was  easy.  I couldn’t  send  any  presents,  I couldn’t 
receive  any;  so  1 spent  what  I might  have  spent 
and  what  my  friends  might  have  spent,  and  what 
was  over  was  my  Birthday  present  to  th^  King.” 

She  made  hundreds  of  tortillas.  She  made  a 
mountain  of  chocolate  candy.  And  then  she  stripped 
her  bed  of  its  mosquito  netting  and  made  tarletan 
bags  for  the  goodies.  And,  oh  joy!  at  the  very  last 
moment  a man  came  in  from  the  north  with  nuts 
to  sell.  She  filled  each  bag  with  its  orange  and  nuts 
and  candy.  And  then  she  made  two  hundred  and 
fifty  bunches  of  tortillas.  You  see  she  had  two  hun- 
dred invited  guests,  and  twenty-five  performers. 
The  extra  twenty-five  were  for  an  emergency. 

Three  o’clock  Christmas  afternoon  arrived. 
Long  before  the  street  was  crowded  with  children 
and  their  mothers.  The  gate  had  to  be  opened  with 
care  so  the  children  would  not  trample  each  other 
in  their  eagerness.  Soon  three  hundred  children 


28 


and  the  mothers  of  fifty  families  were  inside.  Then 
those  who  held  those  precious  grimy  cards  were 
singled  out  and  seated,  while  the  rest  stood  around 
the  back  of  the  room. 

The  twenty-five  little  Protestant  children 
stepped  on  to  the  platform.  How  they  sang  and 
recited!  And  how  they  repeated  from  memory  the 
Story  of  His  Birth  I And  how  delighted  and  ex- 
cited they  were ! . 

And  then  they  waited  in  an  adjoining  room 
while  the  missionary  told  the  simple  story  of  Jesus’ 
love  to  those  poor,  hungry,  dirty  little  brown  broth- 
ers and  sisters  of  yours  and  mine,  who  had  never  in 
all  their  lives  listened  to  such  a strang  tale  about 
Jesus.  He  had  always  been  a dead  Jesus  to  them. 
He  hung  upon  a cross  in  the  church  and  had  the 
saddest  face  you  ever  saw.  Their  mothers  strained 
their  ears  to  catch  every  sound  of  this  wonderful 
story.  And  then  the  missionary  bowed  her  head 
and  prayed,  and  she  was  talking  about  them,  and 
calling  them  His  little  ones ! 

The  missionary  went  out  for  a minute  and  came 
back  with  baskets  and  baskets  of  tortillas.  The  lit- 
tle Protestant  children  had  been  surprised  by  the 
treat  in  the  other  room  and  were  now  on  the  plat- 
form singing  madly,  they  were  so  happy.  And  then 
it  was  discovered  that  many  more  than  two  hun- 
dred had  gotten  in  the  front  seats  with  the  cards, 
and  the  twenty-five  emergency  bags  would  not  suf- 
fice. What  should  she  do?  Her  own  little  children 
each  with  his  precious  bag  hugged  close  to  his 
breast  never  guessed  what  the  missionary  was  suf- 


29 


faring  for  them,  for  she  was  planning  to  test  those 
little  ones  who  were  singing  so  joyfully  about  the 
love  of  Jesus. 

The  song  over,  the  children  ran  back  to  their 
room..  Miss  Turner  went  in  and  spoke  to  them. 
Her  voice  was  very  sad  as  she  said:  ‘'My  little 
children,  listen.  I didn’t  know  so  many  children 
would  come  in  on  the  invitations,  and  I don’t  have 
enough  bags  to  go  around,  and  I wondered  if  my 
little  people”— and  then  she  couldn’t  ask  them,  and 
anyway  she  didn’t  need  to,  for  at  once  twenty-five 
pairs  of  little  brown  hands  were  thrust  out  at  her, 
holding  their  only  Christmas  gifts,  and  twenty-five 
little  voices  eagerly  said,  “Here’s  mine,  Senorita, 
here’s  mine,  don’t  let  them  go  home  sorry.” 

I wonder  if  Jesus  ever  received  a more  precious 
Birthday  gift  than  the  one  those  little  Mexican 
children  gave  Him  that  afternoon? 

—-By  Blanche  B.  Bonine. 

JUAN,  PANCHITA  AND  PAZ 
A Story  of  Child  Life  in  Mexico 

My  story  begins  when  Panchita  was  standing 
in  the  shadow  of  the  little  hut-like  home  with  her 
doll  tied  on  her  back, —at  least  Panchita,  being  only 
ten  years  old,  would  be  supposed  to  have  a doll. 

It  could  open  and  shut  its  eyes  and  cry  and— 
dear,  dear ! it  turns  its  head,  opens  and  shuts  its  lit- 
tle hands  and  is  alive!  In  fact  Panchita’s  doll  is 
her  baby  sister  Paz,  which  means  Peace.  But  there 
really  was  not  much  peace  unless  Paz  was  asleep. 
So,  very  often  she  was  on  Panchita’s  back,  a little 


30 


warm,  wriggling  creature,  calling  for  much  more 
attention  than  any  well-behaved  doll  ever  expects. 
But  Panchita  was  watching  eagerly  for  her  brother 
Juan,  who  had  gone  to  the  city  early  in  the  day 
with  watermelons  to  sell.  Two  big  string  bags 
he  had — one  on  each  side  of  his  little  donkey — and 
very  green  and  tempting  the  melons  looked,  shin- 
ing through  the  network.  He  had  also  carried  two 
baskets  of  vegetables,  but  many  a time  he  had  gone 
as  heavily  laden  and  returned  before  this  hour. 

Panchita’s  mother  sat  in  the  shade  of  a huge 
cactus  weaving  baskets. 

‘Tt  is  time  for  Juan  to  come,”  said  Panchita, 
looking  away  to  the  beautiful  mountain  in  the  west 
behind  which  the  sun  was  seeking  to  hide. 

Her  mother  turned  smilingly  toward  the  little 
girl,  arose  slowly — for  Mexico  is  a land  where  no- 
body hurries — and  laid  aside  her  half-finished 
basket. 

She  expected  Juan,  and  he  must  have  his  sup- 
per. She  had  ground  some  corn  that  morning  after 
I soaking  it  in  lime  water. 

Panchita  could  make  tortillas  (torteeyas)  from 
I the  flour,  so  now,  while  her  mother  took  Paz,  she 
; made  a stiff  dough  of  the  corn-flour  and  water, 
lighted  a charcoal  fire  in  the  mud  fireplace  and  sat 
down  on  the  floor  beside  it.  Then,  taking  a small 
lump  of  dough,  she  patted  and  patted  it  until  it  was 
round  and  flat.  It  was  as  good  fun  as  making  mud 
' pies! 

After  the  pat-a-cake  was  ready  she  laid  it  on  a 
griddle  which  was  now  hot  over  the  charcoal.  When 


31 


a cake  was  cooked  she  laid  it  in  a basket  and  soon 
had  a nice  pile. 

The  frijoles  (beans)  were  already  cooked  and 
these  she  warmed.  Then  again  she  ran  out  to  watch 
for  Juan  and  the  donkey.  “He  is  not  coming  and 
the  sun  shines  no  longer/'  she  said. 

The  mother  put  little  Paz  into  a funny  ham- 
mock-like cradle  which  swung  from  the  rude  ceil- 
ing, as  she  answered:  “He  was  late  selling  to-day; 
we  will  eat,”  and  soon  they  were  sitting  beside  the 
tortillas  and  beans.  Chairs?  No.  Table-cloth? 
No.  Knives,  forks,  napkins?  No,  no,- — they  had 
their  fingers  and  the  tortillas  for  spoons  and  were 
quite  satisfied. 

Panchita  made  short  work  of  her  meal  and  ran 
out  again  to  watch  for  Juan.  The  stars  came  out 
and  the  air  grew  cool,  but  there  was  no  clattering 
of  hoofs  such  as  always  told  of  the  donkey’s  home- 
coming. Finally  Panchita  lay  down  upon  a mat  in 
one  corner  of  the  little  hut,  dressed  as  she  had  been 
all  day,  and  sobbed  herself  to  sleep.  She  had  no 
clean  white  nightgown  or  bed,  and  could  not  pray 
as  you  do  because  she  only  knew  the  Virgin  Mary 
and  the  Saints.  Her  mother  grew  very  anxious,  too, 
for  Juan  had  never  stayed  away  so  late  before.  Since 
the  father’s  death  a few  months  earlier,  he  had 
worked  like  a man,  and  w^as  always  merry  even 
when  burdens  were  heaviest.  All  night  she  dozed 
and  waited,  but  no  Juan! 

Early  the  next  morning  she  told  Panchita  she 
was  going  to  the  city  to  search  for  him.  Of  course 
the  little  girl  must  go,  too,  but  she  had  no  pretty 


clothes  to  wear— only  the  poor  gown  we  have  seen 
her  in,  and  her  brown  feet  were  bare.  Her  mother 
wrapped  a long,  wide  scarf,  called  a reboso  around 
her  own  shoulders,  and  in  it  she  also  wrapped  little 
Paz,  whose  bright  eyes  peeped  out  of  its  folds  be- 
hind her  shoulders.  After  a breakfast  of  tortillas 
and  beans  they  started  on  the  three-mile  walk  with 
heavy  hearts. 

But  where  was  Juan  all  this  time?  He  and  his 
little  donkey  had  walked  slowly  along  the  street 
after  reaching  the  city,  as  he  cried : “Sandias,  buena^ 
y baratasT  (watermelons,  good  and  cheap!)  and 
it  was  not  long  before  he  had  sold  several.  The 
homes  of  the  wealthy  Mexicans  are  very  fine,  and 
are  built  around  a patio  (court)  to  which  there  is 
but  one  wide  doorway  guarded  by  a porter.  So  it 
was  only  when  this  man  called  Juan  and  opened 
the  door  that  he  could  take  in  his  watermelons  and 
other  vegetables.  But  when  once  inside  how  he 
gazed  with  wide-open  eyes  at  the  beautiful  flowers 
and  shrubs,  the  fountain,  and  the  daintily  dressed 
ladies  whom  he  sometimes  saw  in  the  balcony ! His 
own  home  was  very  poor,  but  he  loved  beauty  and 
hoarded  every  glimpse  of  such  homes  to  report  to 
Panchita. 

He  loved  to  see  the  boys  on  their  way  to  school, 
and  the  girls,  too,  each  with  a servant  to  carry  the 
books  and  guard  the  children  from  harm.  Perhaps 
5^ou  may  w’onder  if  the  boys  tried  to  steal  Juan’s 
watermelons  while  he  was  inside  a court.  No  in- 
deed! that  would  not  be  like  the  polite  Mexicans. 
Have  you  noticed  that  in  every  country  the  people 


have  some  good  traits  which  we  might  well  copy? 
So  in  Mexico,  rich  and  poor  alike  are  courteous, 
and  even  Juan  would  doff  his  coarse,  wide-brimmed 
straw  hat  very  quickly  when  he  met  a person  older 
than  himself. 

No  one  harmed  the  donkey  while  Juan  was  sell- 
ing his  produce  within  the  house,  but  on  that  special 
day,  as  the  sun  grew  hot,  the  donkey  concluded  to 
take  a stroll  all  by  himself.  To  tell  the  truth,  Juan 
was  staying  a long  time  in  a court— not  so  grand 
and  beautiful  as  some— -where  a motherly  lady  was 
talking  to  him  as  she  selected  and  paid  for  nearly 
everything  he  had.  Before  he  realized  it  Juan  had 
told  about  the  little  home  which  he  was  trying  to 
keep  for  his  mother  and  his  sisters,  and  how  hard 
it  was:  and  had  learned  that  this  was  a Protestant 
school  where  poor  girls  could  learn  many  things. 
Could  Panchit  a come?  He  cared  not  at  all  for  what 
the  priest  might  say,  for  it  must  be  right  for  a girl 
like  her  to  learn;  yes,  that  is  what  he— Juan— - 
wanted  to  do,  and  the  dear  lady  saw  in  his  earnest 
face  promise  of  a good  heart  and  mind. 

Meanwhile,  the  donkey  walked  on,  slowly  at 
first,  faster  as  he  felt  his  freedom— wagging  his 
wicked  head  and  twitching  his  ears  gleefully.  But 
donkeys  are  not  allowed  to  promenade  alone  in  city 
streets,  so  he  was  captured  by  a policeman,  who, 
seeing  no  owner,  led  him  away.  You  can  imagine 
how  Juan  felt  when  he  came  out  and  missed  his 
faithful  burden  bearer.  He  ran  to  the  park  first 
of  all, — past  the  woman  who  sold  tortillas  and  the 
basket  man,  past  the  man  with  water  jars  and  the 


34 


seller  of  pulque — the  drink  which  brings  sorrow  to 
so  many  Mexican  homes— even  past  the  seller  of 
sweets  from  whom  he  hoped  to  buy  a tiny  gift 
for  baby  Paz.  He  ran  blindly  hither  and  thither 
but  the  stupid  donkey  was  not  in  the  park. 

At  last  Juan  ran  against  a man  who  caught  him 
by  the  shoulder  and  called  him  “little  beggar.”  But 
with  sobs  in  his  voice  Juan  told  his  trouble.  “The 
donkey  would  go  home,  of  course,  but  if  he  was 
alone  he  would  be  arrested,”  said  the  man. 
Arrested!  Juan  smote  his  hands  together.  Who 
would  help  a poor  Indian  boy  in  such  a case? 

Then  he  thought  of  the  kind  woman  who  had 
bought  his  vegetables.  Perhaps  she  would  care. 
Perhaps  some  wise  one  in  that  school  would  tell 
him  what  to  do. 

He  had  wandered  far  from  the  friendly  court, 
but  as  quickly  as  posible  he  made  his  way  to  it,  and 
after  a little  was  admitted,  and  before  the  lady  came 
a servant  was  told  to  give  him  something  to  eat. 

Hungry  as  he  was,  Juan  could  scarcely  crowd 
down  the  food.  He  could  not  forget  the  lost  don- 
key, and  when  finally  the  lady  came  his  story  was 
told  with  downcast  eyes  and  halting  words. 

“Courage,  my  boy,”  she  said.  “I  think  we  can 
find  that  runaway.”  Then  came  the  tall  American, 
her  husband,  and  he  wrote  down  the  boy’s  state- 
ment. 

It  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  find  a trace  of  the 
little  beast,  however,  and  people  seemed  almost  as 
stupid  as  the  lost  animal  in  their  directions. 

From  place  to  place  they  went,  and  it  was  about 


35 


the  time  that  Panchita  was  watching  the  sun  set 
that  the  man  was  found  who  had  “arrested”  Juan’s 
donkey.  Then  the  boy  must  “prove  property,”  but 
the  donkey  was  kind  enough  to  come  when  his  mas- 
ter gave  a certain  call  and  to  circle  around  him 
searching  for  the  choice  bit  of  food  which  Juan  was 
accustomed  to  give  as  his  reward. 

A very  submissive  and  affectionate  donkey  he 
was  and  finally,  after  the  tall  American  and  the  tall 
Mexican  had  had  quite  a discussion,  Juan  was  al- 
lowed to  take  him  away.  But  now  it  was  late  and 
his  new  friend  insisted  that  the  tired  boy  must  sleep 
in  the  school  building.  So  while  his  mother  was 
watching  and  calling  upon  the  saints  to  protect 
him  he  was  sleeping,  oh,  so  soundly ! 

Bright  and  early  the  next  morning,  he  started 
homeward,  but  not  until  he  had  had  a talk  with  the 
kind  Americano  which  made  his  heart  glad.  His 
baskets  and  string  bags  were  empty  but  his  head 
was  full  of  new  ideas,  and  he  made  the  donkey  trot 
briskly  in  his  eagerness  to  reach  his  mother  and 
Panchita.  With  the  morning  sun  shining  in  his 
face  he  did  not  recognize  a little  group  approaching 
until  a brown-faced,  bare-footed  girl  made  a wdld 
dash  toward  him,  crying  out,  “Juan!  Juan!  You 
are  alive!” 

In  the  great  rejoicing  which  followed  even  the 
naughty  donkey  was  embraced,  and  when  baby  Paz 
was  put  upon  his  back  she  was  the  happiest  little 
Indian  in  all  Mexico. 

Juan  told  his  story  with  many  an  eloquent  ges- 
ture and  the  climax  was,  “And  mother,  Panchita 


36 


can  go  to  the  school  and  grow  up  like  the  lady 
Americano:  and  perhaps — perhaps  I can  also  go  a 
few  hours  each  day  to  the  school  for  boys  \” 

The  mother  smiled,  but  wondered  why  Juan 
so  rejoiced  over  the  prospect.  “The  saints  keep  us 
from  the  Protestants,  but  my  boy  must  have  this 
chance  if  he  wants  it,”  she  said  to  herself. 

Panchita  smiled,  for  she  and  Juan  had  heard 
about  books  and  schools,  and  she  felt  a desire  fo^ 
better  things,  as  I suppose  a young  bird  feels  that 
he  must  use  his  wdngs  while  they  are  growing.  The 
donkey  did  not  smile — he  had  no  sense  of  humor — 
but  if  he  had  been  as  wise  as  he  looked  he  might 
have  thought:  “Do  you  see  how  my  runaway  yes- 
terday has  been  overruled  for  the  good  of  the 
family  ?” 

— Courtesy  of  Woman’s  Foreign  Missionary 
Society,  Methodist  Episcopal  Church. 

A MEXICAN  GIRL 
An  Impersonation 

Note:  The  child  who  gives  this  monologue  should  be 
dressed  in  bare  feet,  long  black  skirt,  dirty  and  ragged,  and 
ragged  waist.  Her  hair  disheveled  and  in  a plait,  down  her 
back.  In  a word,  she  should  present  the  appearance  of  a child 
of  ten  or  twelve  who  has  had  no  care  whatever. 

Lady,  will  you  please  give  me  some  money  or 
some  bread?  My  little  sister  is  so  hungry,  and  T 
couldn’t  get  anything  for  her  to  eat  all  day. 

Why  don’t  I go  home?  I have  no  home  to  go 
to.  Yes,  I had  a papa  arid  a mamma  and  some 
brothers  and  sisters,  but  now  I am  all  alone  except 
for  my  dear  baby  sister.  Once  we  had  a home  and 


37 


it  was  just  a tiny  house  made  of  adobe  and  a 
straw  roof  and  only  one  room.  But  we  were  all 
happy  together,  although  we  had  no  beds  nor  ta- 
bles nor  chairs.  We  all  ate  and  slept  on  the  floor. 
Papa  used  to  work  in  the  fields  and  sometimes  he 
helped  make  crocks  and  carry  them  piled  up  high 
on  his  back  to  the  market  to  sell.  Mamma  helped 
too,  but  she  was  always  busy,  making  the  tortillas 
(corn  cakes).  We  were  always  glad  when  the  rainy 
season  came  because  then  we  went  to  the  river  to 
bathe,  while  mamma  washed  our  clothes  and  hung 
them  on  the  cactus  bushes  to  dry.  During  the  dry 
season,  it  was  dreary  because  the  babies  were  never 
well,  and  the  sand  and  dirt  were  so  bad  and  the 
pigs  would  come  into  the  house;  mamma  said  the 
only  reason  she  liked  the  dry  season  was  because 
the  sticks  would  burn  without  smoking  up  the  air 
in  the  house. 

Play,  did  you  say?  Yes,  the  boys  played  bull- 
fight all  the  time.  Me?  Dollies?  I saw  a dollie 
once ; the  rich  girl  at  the  big  ranch  house  had  it. 
And  one  time  I had  a picture  of  a dollie.  Oh,  it  was 
so  pretty,  and  we  hung  it  on  the  wall.  It  was  most 
the  same  as  having  a dollie,  because  that  is  all  you 
can  do  with  them  any  how,  just  hang  them  on  the 
wall. 

What  else  did  I do?  Why  there  is  so  much  to 
do.  There  is  always  a dear  little  baby  brother  or 
sister  to  carry  on  your  back  and  there  was  always 
a lot  of  work  to  do.  I am  ten  years  old  now,  I 
think,  and  of  course  I can  work.  I helped  mamma 
grind  the  corn  between  two  stones  and  that  takes 

38 


all  morning  and  your  back  just  nearly  breaks,  be- 
cause some  days  there  is  nothing  else  to  eat  and 
then  you  have  to  make  more  tortillas.  And  then 
there  were  the  sticks  to  carry  from  the  hills,  for 
that  is  what  we  make  the  fire  with.  No,  there  is  no 
stove;  just  make  a fire  in  the  corner  and  bake  the 
tortillas  on  a stone  over  the  fire. 

And  then  there  was  the  house  to  sweep.  I was 
glad  it  wasn’t  a big  house,  because  our  broom  was 
just  some  twigs  tied  together,  and  there  was  no 
handle  to  them,  and  you  get  very  tired  sweeping 
that  way.  It  seems  to  me  we  do  everything  with 
our  backs. 

How  did  the  boys  help?  Nobody  teaches  boys 
to  work,  not  until  they  are  grown  up,  and  then 
they  don’t  know  how  to  do  anything  but  carry 
heavy  loads.  My  papa  could  carry  as  much  as  a 
horse. 

What  did  I do  on  Sunday?  I don’t  know  what 
day  that  is.  Oh,  yes,  that  is  the  day  we  went  to 
market  before  we  went  to  church.  Sometimes  the 
butcher  used  to  give  me  some  blood  in  my  little 
crock!  Then  after  market  we  had  to  go  to  church 
and  sit  for  hours  on  the  cold  stone  floor  and  wait 
and  wait,  until  mamma  would  get  ready  to  go.  I 
don’t  know  why  she  stayed  so  long,  and  when  she 
came  out  sometimes  she  would  crawl  the  whole 
way  home  on  her  poor  sore  knees,  and  sometimes 
she  would  kiss  the  stones  all  the  way  home.  But 
it  was  worse  when  papa  went,  because  then  for 
days  we  didn’t  have  any  beans,  nothing  but  tor- 
tillas, and  the  babies  would  cry  and  mamma  was  so 
sad  for  they  were  hungry. 

39 


Sunday  School?  What  is  that?  Where  you 
hear  about  Jesus?  Oh,  I like  the  saints  better,  be- 
cause the  saints  help  you  all  the  time  and  when  you 
are  sick  we  put  the  saints  all  about  the  place 
where  you  lie  down,  and  we  burn  things  in  front  of 
them,  and  see  here,  if  you  don’t  have  your  saint  or 
the  Blessed  Virgin  you  can’t  ever  go  to  Heaven. 
Jesus  can’t  help  you.  He’s  dead  over  there  in  the 
church  on  a cross  and  you  wear  black  dresses  for 
Him  during  Holy  Week,  that’s  all. 

Can  I read?  Why,  lady,  it’s  only  rich  little  girls 
that  can  read.  I peeped  in  a school  door  one  day, 
but  they  drove  me  away,  because  I only  had  rags  to 
wear. 

A man  came  to  our  town  one  day  and  asked  my 
papa  to  send  me  to  his  school,  and  he  said  he 
would  teach  me  all  about  this  Jesus.  And  then  my 
mamma  asked  him  if  he  was  a Protestant,  and  he 
said  he  was,  and  she  pushed  us  in  the  house  and 
begged  him  on  her  knees  to  go  away.  He  went 
away  looking  so  sad,  and  my  papa  said  he  believed 
he  was  a good  man,  for  he  had  such  a kind  face. 
My  papa  wanted  me  to  go,  but  my  mamma  knew 
that  Protestants  have  horns  like  Satan,  and  they 
worship  him  too,  and  sometimes  they  eat  little  boys 
and  girls. 

Soon  after  that  my  papa  died  and  my  mamma 
worked  so  hard  and  got  so  sick,  that  when  we 
went  to  market  the  other  day  she  fell  down  on  the 
street.  I ran  to  the  church  to  get  the  priest,  but 
he  couldn’t  come,  he  said,  and  when  I got  back  they 
had  carried  my  mamma  away  and  I can  not  find  my 


40 


other  little  brothers  and  sisters,  and  all  I have  left 
is  this  one.  IVe  walked  and  walked  and  nobody 
will  help  me,  and  I kissed  all  the  stones  in  front  of 
the  church,  and  I went  inside  and  sat  such  a long 
time  in  front  of  the  blessed  Guadalupe,  and  I 
couldn’t  find  the  priest,  and  I had  to  sell  my  blessed 
virgin  to  buy  bread  yesterday  and  now  I don’t 
know  what  to  do.  Won’t  you  please  feed  my  baby 
sister?  Won’t  you  tell  me  what  to  do? 

—By  Blanche  B.  Bonine. 


41 


4 


Latin  American  Stories 

II 

GUATEMALA 

Pills  of  Hate 

We  see  many  sad  cases  in  Guatemala,  the  result 
of  ignorance  or  vice.  The  condition  of  the  children  is 
often  pitiful.  Little  starved-looking  babies  who  have 
been  sick  for  weeks  or  months  are  brought  almost  in 
a dying  state.  When  I ask  why  a doctor  has  not  been 
consulted  before,  the  usual  answer  is  that  it  was  be- 
cause of  lack  of  money.  Fortunately  we  have  many 
hopeful  cases  also,  and  some  amusing  incidents.  A 
short  time  since  an  old  woman  asked  me  in  a confi- 
dential whisper  if  I would  give  her  some  pills  to  make 
her  son  hate  his  wife.  She  did  not  approve  of  the 
daughter-in-law. 

— By  Dr.  Mary  Gregg,  in  Over  Sea  and  Land, 
October,  1913. 

A Little  Girl  of  Guatemala 

I want  to  introduce  you  to  a little  girl  whose  name 
is  Isabel.  Most  of  our  little  girls  are  about  the  color 
of  a nice  chocolate  drop;  this  one  is  a brunette  with 
fine  black  hair  and  bright,  beautiful  eyes..  She  is  a 
jolly  little  lady  who  does  lots  of  nice  things,  and  who 
also  gets  into  mischief.  She  is  very  fond  of  us  and 
we  love  her. 

Her  home  was  not  a Christian  home  like  yours. 
Her  father  and  mother  never  went  to  Sunday  school 
nor  to  church,  and  never  heard  sermons  preached 


43 


from  the  beautiful  story  of  Jesus  and  His  love.  Just 
like  so  many  thousands  of  others  in  this  great  big 
world,  they  were  ignorant  of  the  Bible. 

So  Isabel  did  not  have  an  opportunity  to  learn 
much.  Like  Topsy,  she  was  just  ‘‘growing  up.”  One 
day  her  mother  got  a copy  of  the  Bible  and  became 
much  interested  in  the  wonderful  story  of  salvation. 
She  came  to  see  us  very  often  in  order  to  talk  with  us 
about  our  own  life,  and  then  she  commenced  to  talk 
with  her  husband  and  children.  But  they  did  not  care 
to  hear  much  about  these  things.  However,  little  Isa- 
bel just  loved  to  ‘have  her  mother  talk  with  her  and 
tell  her  the  beautiful  Bible  stories.  For  several  years 
the  mother  has  been  coming  to  our  services  and  Isa- 
bel has  come  with  her  and  has  always  been  so  inter- 
ested in  the  Sunday  school  lessons. 

Some  time  ago  Isabel  had  to  have  her  throat 
treated.  It  was  not  convenient  for  the  family  to 
have  the  operation  in  her  own  home,  so  she  and  her 
mother  came  to  our  missionary  home,  where  she 
stayed  many  days.  Now  she  is  well  and  strong,  and 
enjoying  better  health  than  she  has  ever  known. 

Her  father  has  never  attended  our  services  to  hear 
for  himself  what  beautiful  things  we  teach.  Some 
time  ago  some  of  his  relatives  told  him  that  we  were 
very  bad  people  and  that  we  taught  evil  things,  go- 
ing about  trying  to  break  up  families;  separating 
parents  and  children.  But  the  whole  family  knew 
that  Isabel  and  her  mother  had  both  been  better 
since  they  had  been  studying,  and  this  little  girl,  be- 
ing the  youngest  of  the  family  and  her  father’s  pet, 
became  a peacemaker. 


44 


She  has  suffered  a great  deal  because  other  chil- 
dren have  taunted  her  and  have  said  many  ugly 
things  to  her  because  she  comes  to  Sunday  school 
and  church.  One  day  when  others  were  making 
sport  of  her,  she  told  them  that  while  they  worship 
gods  of  wood  that  have  to  be  carried  about  in  the 
arms  of  men  and  women,  that  we  worship  the  great 
God  who  made  the  heaven  and  the  earth,  and  who 
sent  His  dear  Son  to  be  our  Saviour. 

The  dear  little  girl  has  loved  the  beautiful  story 
ever  since  she  first  heard  it,  has  always  been  very 
faithful  at  Sunday  school,  is  now  herself  a Christian, 
a little  peacemaker  in  her  home,  and  a little  mission- 
ary to  other  children. 

—By  Rev.  William  B.  Allison,  in  Over  Sea 
and  Land,  October,  1912. 

Stealing  Jesus  in  Guatemala 

Perhaps  you  think  that  Central  America  is  a 
Christian  country  and  does  not  need  missionaries,  but 
these  people  are  taught  that  the  only  way  to  be  saved 
is  by  money,  prayers,  burning  candles  and  making 
themselves  do  hard  and  unpleasant  things.  At  Christ- 
mas time  the  people  are  taught  to  worship  an  image 
of  a little  baby.  They  call  it  “Baby  Jesus.”  There 
is  a Baby  Jesus  in  every  home  and  candles  are  kept 
burning  before  it  no  matter  how  poor  the  people  may 
be.  One  day  I found  a little  girl  sewing  on  a tiny 
silk  dress.  I asked  if  it  were  for  her  doll.  “O,  no, 
Senora,  it  is  for  our  little  God.”  One  woman  told  me 
that  thieves  had  entered  her  house  the  night  before 


45 


and  stolen  her  “J^sus.”  Then  I could  tell  her  how 
wrong  it  is  to  worship  idols,  and  how  much  better 
it  is  to  have  Jesus  in  our  hearts  where  no  one  can 
steal  Him  from  us. 

These  people  take  the  name  of  God  in  vain  over 
and  over  again,  for  ‘‘Jesus’'  is-  a common  name  in 
their  homes.  It  is  not  a sacred,  holy  name  to  them. 
One  day  I asked  the  name  of  a little  girl,  her  mother 
said,  “It  is  ‘Jesus,’  and  the  little  servant  is  ‘Jesus,’ 
too,  we  have  two  Jesuses  in  this  house.”  A child 
once  told  me  that  her  kitten’s  name  was  Jesus,  and 
I am  sure  you  will  be  very  much  surprised  when  I 
tell  you  that  one  day  as  a boy  was  driving  a little 
black  pig  to  market,  we  asked  his  name,  and  he  told 
us  it  was  “Jesus.” 

Do  you  not  agree  with  me  that  these  people  need 
to  be  taught  about  God?  Will  you  not  pray  for  these 
boys  and  girls  ? I wish  you  could  see  the  happy  faces 
of  those  who  have  learned  to  know  their  Heavenly 
Father,  and  Jesus  our  Saviour.  They  love  to  sing, 
''Jesus  paid  it  all, 

All  to  Him  I owe. 

Sin  had  left  a crimson  stain, 

He  washed  it  white  as  snowJ^ 

This  is  such  Good  News  to  them,  for  they  have  never 
heard  it  before.  \ 

— By  Mrs.  W.  B.  Allison. 


A Product  of  the  Gospel 

With  my  mother  and  little  sister  I had  worked 
hard,  but  my  brothers  were  all  prodigals  and 

46 


wasted  what  my  father  had  left  us.  It  was  impossi- 
ble to  pay  our  debts,  and  we  lived  in  misery.  At 
last  I cursed  my  home  and  left  my  mother.  I 
thought  to  live  differently,  but  alas  it  was  like 
transplanting  a tree  in  another  place  when  it  carried 
with  it  the  disease.  Then  came  war  in  Salvador 
and  I enlisted  with  the  hope  that  they  would  kill 
me;  but  I came  out  without  even  a wound.  Once 
more  I returned  home,  and  one  day  a colporteur 
passed  near  our  house  selling  Bibles;  he  talked 
much  of  Jesus  Christ  as  the  only  Salvador  (Sav- 
iour) of  man  and  right  there  I offered  a prayer  and 
felt  a movement  in  my  heart.  I urged  him  to  stay 
the  night,  and  before  he  left  I had  resolved  to  leave 
my  life  of  sin. 

Persecution  came  and  they  put  me  in  prison; 
but  with  my  Bible  and  hymn  book  I took  the  oppor- 
tunity to  preach  to  the  judge  and  soldiers.  In 
fine,  the  pastor  proposed  that  I take  up  the  work 
of  colporteur,  and  the  Lord  has  blessed  me.  When 
I commenced,  it  meant  sleeping  many  times  on  the 
bare  ground  with  only  my  valise  and  books  to  keep 
me  company,  but  after  two  years  God  gave  me  the 
harvest,  and  then  I did  not  travel  one  single  day 
without  coming  to  the  house  of  some  native  con- 
vert. 

— Report  of  American  Bible  Society. 


47 


Latin  American  Stories 

III 

COLOMBIA 

What  She  Did  When  Persecuted 

I wonder  how  many  of  you  can  find  Colombia  on 
the  map?  If  you  find  it,  look  on  the  coast  for  a city 
named  Cartagena.  That  city  is  not  only  the  oldest 
one  in  Colombia,  but  also  the  oldest  one  in  the  Amer- 
icas. It  is  surrounded  by  a thick  stone  wall.  Sev- 
eral years  ago,  the  agent  for  the  American  Bible  So- 
ciety went  to  Cartagena  for  the  purpose  of  selling 
Bibles  and  holding  services,  but  he  was  not  wel- 
comed; people  there  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  either 
the  Bible  or  the  Protestant  religion.  So  he  went  out- 
side the  walls.  That  was  the  beginning  of  one  of  Co- 
lombia’s most  promising  missions. 

In  Cabrero  there  is  now  a little  mission  house 
where  services  are  being  held  regularly.  I want  to 
tell  you  about  a young  girl  of  perhaps  thirteen  or 
fourteen.  She  had  given  her  heart  to  God  and  be- 
came a member  of  the  church.  Her  parents  and 
friends,  who  were  all  Catholics,  tried  to  persuade  her 
not  to  join  our  church;  when  that  did  no  good  they 
threatened  her  with  all  kinds  of  things.  Still  she  per- 
sisted in  going  where  she  could  listen  to  the  words 
that  gave  her  new  life  and  courage.  One  evening, 
as  she  was  returning  from  the  service  she  was  met  by 
some  of  her  relatives,  who  beat  her  cruelly.  They 
thought  that  by  such  harsh  treatment  they  could 
frighten  her  and  make  her  return  to  the  Catholic 


49 


church.  And  what  do  you  think  this  courageous  lit- 
tle girl  did?  Did  she  weaken  and  give  in?  No, 
indeed.  She  went  to  the  next  service,  which  was  a 
prayer  meeting,  still  sore  and  bruised;  and  there  in 
church  she  prayed  for  those  who  had  treated  her  so 
shamefully,  asked  God  to  forgive  them,  and  to  open 
their  hearts  that  His  love  might  enter. 

Such  examples  of  love  and  faith  are  rare  here,  but 
we  are  scarcely  surprised  at  that,  for  in  Colombia 
the  Bible  is  a forbidden  book ; the  Roman  church  does 
not  allow  its  members  to  read  it.  Many  a person 
comes  to  the  services  in  the  Presbyterian  chapel  out 
of  curiosity  or  to  ridicule  our  teachings.  There  he 
hears  things  he  has  never  heard  before,  and  he  is 
interested  and  comes  again  and  again.  In  that  way 
many  have  been  led  out  of  darkness  into  light.  There 
are  no  Sunday  schools  in  all  Colombia,  except  where 
there  is  a mission.  In  all  these  Sunday  schools  it  has 
been  found  that  the  young  folks  as  well  as  the  older 
ones  take  a great  interest  in  the  Bible  stories.  In 
Barranquilla,  another  city  on  the  coast,  a great  many 
children  come  to  Sunday  school  and  interest  in  Bible 
study  is  kept  up  by  asking  questions.  Each  Sunday 
the  pastor  gives  out  two  questions,  which  are  to  be 
answered  the  following  Sunday.  At  the  end  of  the 
year  prizes  are  given  to  those  who  have  the  most  cor- 
rect answers.  As  a result,  these  young  people  are 
very  well  acquainted  with  their  Bibles,  which  is  of  the 
greatest  importance,  as  you  and  I know. 

— By  Louise  Cruikshank,  in  Over  Sea  and  Land, 
October,  1915. 


50 


A Secret  About  Colombia 

Boys  are  very  much  alike  in  North  America  and 
in  South  America.  You  would  be  surprised  to  find 
how  much  alike  they  are.  But  there  is  a difference, 
too,  and  I am  going  to  tell  it  to  you  as  a secret,  a help- 
ful secret  which  you  need  not  keep.  It  will  help  you 
to  be  grateful  for  the  land  that  gave  you  birth  and  it 
will  make  you  want  to  help  those  boys  who  were  born 
in  another  land.  The  difference  in  the  lands  is  what 
makes  the  difference  in  the  boys.  ‘ 

Did  you  ever  hear  this  story?  King  Alfonso  of 
Spain,  when  a very  young  man,  asked  Queen  Victoria 
of  England,  “Why  is  your  land  greater  than  mine?” 
It  is  said  that  the  good  and  wise  queen  picked  up  a 
Bible  which  lay  upon  a table  near  by  and  answered, 
“It  is  reverence  for  this  Book  which  has  made  Eng- 
land a great  nation.  When  Spain  studies  and  reveres 
the  Word  of  God  she,  too,  will  become  great.”  The 
same  may  be  said  of  the  United  States  and  its  sister 
republic,  Colombia.  The  United  States  is  a country 
founded  upon  the  open  Bible.  Colombia  is  a country 
in  which  the  Bible  is  called  a Forbidden  Book,  and 
where  Bibles  are  still  gathered  and  burned  in  the  pub- 
lic squares.  This  is  why  teachers  find  boys  in  the 
United  States  clean  and  straightforward — jolly  and 
full  of  fun  and  mischief,  it  is  true,  but  as  a rule, 
thinking  clean  thoughts  and  looking  frankly  out  of 
honest  eyes. 

Boys  and  girls,  thank  God  for  your  country, 
founded  on  the  open  Bible;  your  clean  home  influ- 
ences, and  pray  that  the  Colombian  boys  and  girls 
may  not  miss  what  you  enjoy.  Let  us  all  help  with  a 


51 


will  to  send  missionaries  to  Colombia,  to  teach  the 
Bible  to  every  creature. 

— By  Mrs.  Walter  S.  Lee,  in  Over  Sea  and 
Land,  October,  1913. 

The  Story  of  a Bible  Which  Escaped  the  Fire 

Would  you  like  to  know  how  two  of  our  mem- 
bers joined  the  Mission  church?  I believe  you  would, 
so  I will  tell  you. 

There  was  once  a good  man  who  sold  many  Bibles 
to  the  Colombians  in  a certain  town.  However,  the 
priest  ordered  the  people  to  bring  them  all  to  him, 
and  they  did  so.  Then  he  said  to  the  man  who  cleans 
the  church,  “Take  all  of  these  Bibles  and  burn  them.” 
The  man  burned  all  but  one.  This,  out  of  curiosity, 
he  put  in  his  pocket.  When  he  arrived  home,  he  read 
it,  and  wondered  at  the  good  words  it  contained,  and 
why  such  good  words  should  be  burned. 

He  gave  it  to  the  women  of  the  house  also,  and 
two  of  them  believed  in  its  teaching,  and  are  now  in 
our  church. 

—By  Alexander  M.  Allan,  in  Over  Sea  and 
Land,  June,  1911. 

A Day  in  Bogota 

“Back  of  Bogota  lies  a range  of  steep  hills.  Two 
of  the  peaks  tower  over  the  city  and  are  crowded 
with  large  white  monasteries,  Guadaloupe  and 
Monserrate.  The  'Christ  of  Monserrate’  has  come 
to  us,  having  been  brought  down  several  weeks  ago 
in  a grand  procession,  and  after  being  carried 
through  the  streets  on  a stately  platform,  he  was 


52 


installed  in  the  Cathedral  where  we  saw  him  one 
Saturday  morning.  We  found  a crowd  surround- 
ing a huge  wax  image  of  the  Christ,  all  besmeared 
with  blood,  and  most  gruesome,  but  clad  in  an 
elegant  lavendar  satin  oriental  tunic,  covered  with 
gilt  trimmings  and  edged  with  rich  fringe.  Crowds 
thronged  that  corner  of  the  great  Cathedral  where 
mass  was  being  said,  but  few  were  attending  the 
mass. 

“There  was  not  even  a priest  here  but  a simple 
policeman  in  blue  uniform,  and  even  his  cap  on,  dis- 
pensing the  blessings  supposed  to  be  granted  by  the 
Christ.  Poor,  ignorant  souls  were  handing  this 
policeman  scapularies,  handkerchiefs,  prayer-books, 
and  in  fact  whatever  they  had.  This  the  policeman 
took  and  waved  or  passed  over  the  extended  hand 
of  the  reclining  Christ,  then  handed  back  to  the 
owner.  For  this  privilege  the  poor  souls  had  paid 
hard-earned  cash,  and  to  us  the  faces  that  passed 
on  were  such  sad,  unhappy  ones  as  they  went  their 
several  ways  to  the  duties  of  the  day.  One  old 
woman  pressed  her  way  forward  and  gave  the  po- 
liceman a gross  or  more  of  rosaries  to  pass  over 
the  hand  of  Christ.  This  done,  up  came  another 
handful,  which  the  policeman  also  waved  over  the 
hand.  Then  the  old  woman  went  out  to  sell  these 
rosaries  with  the  blessing  in  them.  Money  in  that 
deal  for  her. 

“To  see  a policeman  in  a temple  dedicated  to  the 
Lord  dispensing  religion  to  right  and  to  left,  as  fast 
as  he  could  to  these  ignorant  souls  with  no  priest 
nearer  than  those  attending  mass  in  front,  seemed 


S3 


to  US  the  limit  of  idolatry.  While  we  were  there  an 
invalid  was  brought  before  the  Christ  in  a litter. 
While  she  worshiped,  a friend  took  something  of 
hers  and  had  it  blessed,  then  she  too  was  carried 
out  and  to  her  humble  home  and  the  duties  of  the 
day.  Poor  souls  longing  and  struggling  in  their 
idolatry  for  the  light  that  we  idle  gazers  had  to 
give.  Would  we  could  reach  them  and  persuade 
them  to  turn  to  the  living  Christ.” 

— By  Lelia  W.  Quinby. 

Felipe,  the  Fisher  Boy 

Felipe  was  born  in  the  quaint,  sleepy  old  city  of 
Cartagena,  played  in  its  hot,  sandy  streets,  and, 
when  tired  of  play,  slept  in  the  shadow  of  its  moss- 
grown,  mouldy  stone  wall.  As  he  grew  older,  he 
went  fishing  with  his  elders  in  the  beautiful  bay,  be- 
came skilful  in  throwing  the  net  and  handling  the 
canoe,  at  home  helped  by  carrying  on  his  head  great 
baskets  of  nicely  washed  and  ironed  clothes  to  the  rich 
ladies  for  whom  his  mother  worked.  When  he  felt 
like  it,  he  went  to  the  school,  where,  instead  of 
studying,  the  boys  spent  most  of  the  time  in  fight- 
ing, gambling,  smoking  and  even  drinking,  for  the 
master  did  little  but  read  or  sleep,  and  even  sent 
the  boys  out  to  buy  him  strong  drink,  and  then 
drank  himself  helpless  in  their  presence.  Some- 
times the  boys  were  turned  loose  for  a sea  bath, 
and  then  there  was  wild  joy  as  they  leaped  the 
breakers,  dived,  swam  and  rolled  over  and  over  in 
the  cool  waves. 

Sometimes  on  Sunday,  if  there  were  not  too 
many  clothes  to  be  delivered,  and  his  own  one  good 


54 


suit  happened  to  be  clean,  and  he  possessed  a pair 
of  whole  sandals,  Felipe  went  to  early  morning 
mass,  but  it  was  so  seldom  that  all  the  necessary 
conditions  were  fulfilled  at  the  same  time,  that  he 
probably  didn’t  get  to  mass  oftener  than  once  in 
two  months.  But,  then,  that  was  often  enough. 
He  couldn’t  understand  a word  of  it,  and  the  mean- 
ingless performance  was  always  the  same.  Any- 
way, he  believed  he  went  often  enough  to  save  him- 
self from  the  ''inferno.” 

The  Sunday  afternoon  cock  fight,  however,  was 
quite  a different  matter.  There  was  life  there,  and 
it  wasn’t  often  that  our  boy  missed  that  great 
event  of  the  week.  But  one  day  two  foreigners 
passed  through  the  street,  offering  for  sale  a book 
they  called  "The  Word  of  God.”  That  did  sound 
queer.  And  the  men  said  the  book  contained  the 
very  words  and  teachings  of  our  Lord  and  of  the 
holy  apostles.  Felipe  had  been  taught  that  only  the 
"padres”  (priests)  possessed  these  teachings.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  just  common  fishermen  might 
have  a right  to  read  them?  He  felt  just  a little 
afraid  of  the  book,  and  yet  curious  to  handle  it. 
His  old  grandfather  invited  the  men  to  his  house  to 
explain  these  strange  things,  and  Felipe  will  never 
forget  how  very  odd  that  meeting  seemed  to  him. 
When  the  men  prayed,  they  not  only  bowed  their 
heads,  but  they  shut  their  eyes!  Then  they  just 
talked  quietly  and  earnestly  with  some  one  he  could 
not  see.  It  made  him  feel  creepy.  After  a long  talk 
with  closed  eyes,  the  men  sang  what  they  called 
"hymns,”  and  that  was  fine.  Felipe  had  a sweet 


55 


voice  himself  and  loved  singing.  Some  of  the 
hymns  were  so  joyful  that  he  almost  had  to  join  in 
with  them ; others  so  sweet  and  sad  that  they 
brought  moisture  to  his  eyes.  Then  one  of  the  men 
read  from  the  book  and  told  how  our  Lord  loved 
and  called  common  fishermen  to  follow  Him.  They 
said  that  the  great  St.  Peter  had  been  just  a poor, 
ignorant  fisherman  and  had  to  be  taught  many 
things  over  and  over,  exactly  like  the  fishermen  of 
Cartagena. 

Grandfather  bought  one  of  the  books,  and  the 
day  came  when  Felipe,  too,  owned  one  and  studied 
it  faithfully.  In  a little  while  these  strangers  started 
what  they  called  a Sunday  School,  where  they 
taught  from  the  book  the  sweetest,  most  wonder- 
ful stories  of  the  love  of  God  and  of  Christ.  Felipe 
had  always  thought  that  God  wanted  only  to  con- 
demn everybody  in  the  world,  that  Christ  wanted 
to  punish  every  human  being  for  His  suffering  on 
the  Cross,  and  that  only  the  constant,  urgent  plead- 
ing of  the  Blessed  Virgin  saved  this  unhappy  world 
from  the  fierce  fires  of  ^finferno.’* 

Now  he  learns  that  it  was  love  that  brought 
Christ  to  the  world,  love  that  took  Him  to  the 
Cross,  love  that  still  seeks  to  save  freely  every  hu- 
man being,  and  his  heart  filled  with  love  for  this 
wonderful  Saviour.  He  asked  for  and  received  bap- 
tism, and  vowed  the  service  of  his  life  to  this  pre- 
cious Jesus. 

— By  the  late  Miss  Jessie  Scott,  in  leaflet  pub- 
lished by  the  Woman’s  Foreign  Missionary 
Society  of  the  Presbyterian  Church. 


Latin  American  Stories 

IV 

CHILE 

The  Country  Where  There  Are  More  Pianos 
Than  Bath  Tubs 

Miss  Lakes  is  the  daughter  of  an  elder  of  one 
of  our  churches,  a young  lady  of  some  twenty  sum- 
mers, who  teaches  in  the  public  school.  One  after- 
noon she  was  speaking  with  a missionary  lady  on 
things  in  general  and  health  in  particular.  She 
remarked  that  when  she  lived  in  L — she  used  to 
wash  her  feet  almost  every  week,  but,  '‘since  I have 

come  to  M- I don’t  dare  do  it,  especially  in  the 

winter,  for  it  makes  me  sick  every  time.”  The  un- 
cleanly habits  of  a large  percentage  of  Chileans  are 
terrible  to  contemplate,  and  the  upper  class  Chilean 
just  refuses  to  contemplate  them  and  gets  angry 
if  anyone  else  does.  Nevertheless  one  of  themselves 
has  said  that  there  are  more  pianos  than  bathtubs 
in  Chile. 

But  the  question  goes  deeper  than  the  skin. 
Cleanliness  is  next  to  Godliness:  and  usually  fol- 
lows upon  it,  though  the  reverse  may  not  be  true. 
And  we  make  no  mistake  in  the  case  of  Chile  if  we 
surmise  that  the  lack  of  physical  cleanliness  likely 
indicates  the  lack  of  moral  cleanliness,  too.  One 
Chilean  says,  “laying  is  the  sin  Chilean.”  A busi- 
ness man  says  he  never  trusts  the  word  of  another 
merchant  of  whatever  class  or  position.  One  day 
when  I returned  to  a storekeeper  five  pesos  which 


57 


he  had  paid  me  above  what  was  due  me,  he  said 
there  was  not  a Chilean  in  the  city  who  would  have 
done  the  same  thing.  Another  said  that  no  girl  of 
the  lower  class  over  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  no 
man  from  the  Governor  of  the  province  down  to  the 
lowest  peon,  is  pure.  These  statements  may  be  too 
sweeping  in  their  generality ; but  they  indicate  a 
condition  that  is  anything  but  clean. 

Chile  needs  soap  for  the  skin,  but  infinitely  more 
she  needs  the  Gospel  of  Christ  for  the  heart. 

— Dorothy  R.  Edwards. 

A Doorkeeper  in  the  House  of  the  Lord 

Francisco  Caereres  is  the  caretaker  of  our  little 
Presbyterian  chapel  in  Curico,  Chile.  He  and  his 
wife  and  his  four  children  live  in  a couple  of  mean 
rooms  behind  the  chapel;  for  they  are  very  poor. 
The  other  evening  he  told  me  his  story.  He  is  one  of 
several  children.  His  father  found  it  difficult  to 
maintain  the  family,  and  when  Francisco,  still  in  his 
’teens,  began  to  sow  his  wild  oats,  as  all  his  compan- 
ions were  doing,  and  as  nearly  all  young  men  do  here, 
I am  sorry  to  say,  he  was  cast  out  upon  the  street  to 
shift  for  himself.  He  went  from  bad  to  worse,  until 
he  became  an  habitual  drunkard,  without  anything 
to  his  name  but  the  rags  he  had  on  his  back.  But 
this  did  not  prevent  him  from  marrying  a widow  with 
two  children.  He  beat  his  wife  and  terrorized  the 
children  until  one  day  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  tffie 
law.  A former  employer  went  his  bail,  which  he  im- 
mediately jumped. 


58 


But  then  began  a new  period.  He  was  weary  of 
the  hard  life.  He  wandered  from  town  to  town,  try- 
ing to  rid  himself  of  his  drink  demon,  and  as  a last 
resort  traveled  about  seventy  miles  to  find  a former 
friend  who  had  conquered  his  appetite  for  liquor. 
This  friend,  a friend,  indeed,  told  him  simply  and 
directly  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  His  Gospel  of  salvation. 
Francisco  was  skeptical.  But  the  seed  had  been 
sown,  and  during  several  more  months  of  wandering 
it  grew  and  bore  fruit.  Francisco  surrendered  his 
heart  to  the  Lord;  he  was  “converted,”  for  he  turned 
squarely  about  and  started  in  the  other  direction. 

It  was  a hard  road.  First  he  returned  to  the  city 
where  he  had  been  arrested  and  gave  himself  up  to 
justice.  But  the  same  friend  who  had  paid  his  bail 
secured  his  release.  Then  he  returned  to  his  family 
and  began  to  work  to  pay  back  the  money  his  friend 
had  forfeited  as  bail.  Soon  he  came  to  Curico, 
where  he  and  his  wife  joined  our  chapel.  He  was  not 
yet  a saint,  and  though  drink  never  conquered  him, 
his  violent  temper  did.  The  fear-light  in  the  eyes  of 
the  twelve-year -old  boy  shows  plainly  enough  what 
had  been  suffered  from  that  temper.  But  one  who 
observes  him  to-day  can  see  him  taking  giant  strides 
upward  on  the  narrow  way.  To-day  his  conscience 
is  more  tender  than  that  of  many  a well-fed,  well- 
clothed  deacon  who  occupies  the  front  pew  every 
Sabbath  morn.  He  works  faithfully  for  his  family. 
And  he  loves  and  serves  his  Lord  as  far  as  he  knows, 
this  doorkeeper  in  the  House  of  the  Lord. 

— By  Mrs.  David  R.  Edwards. 


59 


Prayers  That  Cost  Money 


Our  thoughts  were  recently  called  to  a home 
where  the  mother  was  absent  for  some  time  visiting 
a married  daughter.  Another  daughter,  Carmela,  al- 
ways her  pastor  father’s  right-hand  helper,  was  in 
charge.  This  daughter  was  mother,  pastor’s  wife 
and  housekeeper  as  well  now,  when  her  little  sister 
was  taken  seriously  ill.  She  cared  for  her,  she  kept 
up  her  work  and  she  prayed.  Everyone  in  that  house 
and  outside  friends  as  well,  lifted  up  their  voices  to 
God  in  faith.  They  plead  as  children  with  a loving 
father  for  that  dear  child.  They  knew  He  would 
hear  and  answer  in  the  best  way,  the  simple  petitions 
from  stricken,  earnest,  humble  hearts.  All  without 
money  and  without  price. 

Only  a few  days  after  this  little  girl’s  recover}^, 
a stricken  mother,  quite  beside  herself,  arrived  at  the 
convent  bar  and  asked  for  the  head  nun  on  duty. 
Her  story  was  a pitiful  one,  and  our  hearts  ached 
for  her.  Her  little  girl  was  lying  seriously  ill.  She 
had  left  the  bedside  to  come  to  buy  prayers  to  be  said 
on  five  consecutive  days,  at  two  pesos  a mass, — she 
could  not  afford  more.  ‘‘Ask  the  good  priest  to  pray 
long.  Oh,  I hope  the  blessed  Virgin  will  hear  and 
heal,  that  my  little  one  may  soon  j-ecover.”  “To  be 
sure,”  replied  the  nun,  “I  will  take  the  money  im- 
mediately and  to-morrow  mass  will  be  said  for  your 
child,  and  let  us  hope  she  will  soon  recover.”  Think 
of  it!  Wait  until  to-morrow  to  plead  for  a dying 
child.  Oh,  the  joy  of  calling  on  God  for  our  dear 
ones;  but  the  deep  sorrow  of  seeing  hundreds  depend 


6o 


on  the  power  of  one  man,— the  priest — ^to  bring  God’s 
blessing  to  the  home. 

—By  Bessie  M.  Smith. 

Life  in  the  Tenements  in  Chile 

If  any  one  wishes  to  know  how  from  70  per  cent, 
to  80  per  cent  of  the  population  of  our  cities  live,  let 
them  go  to  any  one  of  the  thousands  of  ‘^conventi- 
llos,”  or  tenement  houses.  The  door  that  gives  en- 
trance to  them  is  more  or  less  like  other  doors,  save, 
perhaps,  a notice,  “Rooms  to  let.”  At  the  end  of  a 
narrow  passage  will  be  found  an  open  court  sur- 
rounded by  from  twenty  to  fifty  rooms,  in  which 
nearly  as  many  families  live.  With  inadequate  water 
supply  and  the  most  limited  conveniences,  the  rooms 
often  receiving  both  light  and  air  by  the  door  only, 
do  you  wonder  that  at  least  one  of  every  three  babies 
' born  in  Chile  dies  before  it  arrives  at  the  age  of  one 
year  ? 

i Then  think  of  the  surroundings  for  the  poor  little 
children  who  live.  In  one  such  “conventillo,”  I was 
talking  with  a shoemaker  who  was  working  in  a little 
lean-to  beside  his  room.  He  and  his  boy  of  fifteen 
were  working  at  the  bench.  The  boy  was  undersized 
for  twelve.  Beside  the  bench  stood  a sewing  ma- 
chine, which  they  were  paying  for  by  instalments, 
and  with  which  the  wife  sewed  the  shoes.  In  this 
same  shed,  open  on  one  side,  was  the  brazier,  on 
which  all  the  cooking  is  done,  and  a few  pots  and 
dishes  on  a box  which  served  for  a table.  There  was 
barely  room  to  turn  arotmd.  Another  boy  of  sixteen 


61 


works  for  a tobacconist  as  errand  boy.  There  is  a 
pretty  girl  of  seventeen  and  three  small  girls.  The 
older  girl  cooks  and  washes  and  irons  for  the  whole 
family.  This  shoemaker’s  one  room  has  a window, 
and  there  are  two  visible  beds,  besides  a box  for  the 
baby.  I wonder  where  they  all  sleep.  Some  families 
have  sheep  skins  under  the  niattresses,  which  are 
dragged  out  and  put  on  the  floor  at  night  for  the  chil- 
dren. This  floor  was  of  bricks,  and  these  broken  in 
many  places, — certainly  not  very  comfortable  to  sleep 
on.  There  was  no  chair,  but  I was  offered  a seat 
upon  the  end  of  a box,  with  as  much  courtesy  as  if  it 
had  been  an  upholstered  couch.  Just  before  entering 
this  home  I had  seen  an  intoxicated  woman  with  her 
baby  in  her  arms  stagger  into  the  room  adjoining. 
While  we  were  talking  she  began  to  rave.  “This  is 
dreadful  for  the  children  to  hear,”  I said.  “I  wish 
they  never  heard  anything  worse,”  the  father  replied. 
“This  is  nothing.” 

— ^By  Mrs.  J.  F.  Garvin. 

The  Conversion  of  a Chilean  Terror 

Six  years  ago  he  dwelt  in  the  tents  of  wickedness. 
Head  and  shoulders  above  the  average  Chilean  in 
height,  his  muscle  was  second  only  to  his  insatiable 
thirst.  A good  workman  when  sober,  he  spent  two- 
thirds  of  his  time  in  debauchery,  and  was  the  terror 
alike  of  employers  and  fellow  workmen  because  of 
his  foul  mouth  and  his  violent  temper.  After  an  un- 
usually extended  spree,  he  went  down  to  the  port  in 
pursuit  of  new  adventures,  and  wandering  aimlessly 


62 


one  evening  through  one  of  the  quieter  streets,  was 
attracted  by  the  sound  of  singing.  It  seemed  to  come 
from  a building  which  had  a very  unfamiliar  look, 
being  neither  bar  nor  residence,  and  he  stopped  to  lis- 
ten. Something  far  down  in  his  sin-wom  heart 
stirred  at  what  seemed  to  him  heavenly  music,  and  he 
would  fain  have  investigated,  but  the  unfamiliar  at- 
mosphere deterred  him.  With  a sigh  of  great  and 
unspeakable  longing,  he  passed  on,  to  enter  the  near- 
est bar;  but  the  memory  remained  with  him  and  he 
often  wondered  what  that  place  could  have  been. 

Months  later,  one  night  a comrade  invited  him  to 
go  to  a meeting  to  be  held  by  the  “Canutos^^  (term  of 
reproach  for  evangelical  Christians),  and  because  his 
friend  was  insistent  and  he  had  nothing  else  to  do  for 
the  moment,  he  went.  As  he  entered  the  simple  hall, 
the  girl  at  the  organ  began  to  play  the  air  which  had 
so  charmed  and  haunted  him.  Ah,  here  was  the  ex- 
planation! Hungrily,  greedily,  he  drank  it  in — -the 
song  first  and  then  the  sermon,  and  went  forth  a re- 
deemed man,  as  great  a miracle  as  Lazarus  raised 
from  the  dead.  That  night  the  grog-shop  and  the 
gambling  den  lost  their  best  customer. 

It  was  good  to  see  him  the  night  of  the  dedication 
of  the  Mission  Building  at  Santa  Isabel,  the  light  of 
heaven  on  his  scarred  and  rugged  face,  as  he  stood 
up  before  his  comrades  and  said : *Wou  fellows 
know  what  I was,  and  you  knov;  what  has  changed 
me.  Come  and  try  it,  men;  Jesus  will  do  the  same  for 
each  of  you!’’ 

— From  1915  Year  Book  of  the  Presbyterian 
Mission  in  Chile. 


63 


Latin  American  Stories 

V 

BRAZIL 

The  Worship  of  Saints 

Do  you  know  that  images  are  as  common  in  Brazil 
as  in  China  or  India?  Do  you  know  they  are  really 
worshiped?  If  questioned,  the  priests  will  tell  you 
that  it  is  really  God  who  is  worshiped;  the  saint,  rep- 
resented by  the  image,  is  merely  appealed  to  to  present 
the  prayers  before  God,  who  is  too  busy  to  hear  ordi- 
nary mortals.  But  the  large  majority  of  the  laity  will 
frankly  tell  you  that  they  really  pray  to  the  image. 
A woman  promised  a new  dress  to  one  of  her  images, 
if  the  latter  would  grant  a certain  petition.  A young 
girl  slapped  her  Saint  Antonio  (the  patron  saint  of 
lovers)  and  threw  him  under  the  bed  because  her  love 
affairs  were  not  prospered ! 

Here  is  the  legend  of  Saint  Benedict,  the  negro 
saint,  who  is  a prime  favorite.  It  is  told,  together  with 
an  incident  of  one  of  Benedict’s  devotees,  by  Rev. 
Paschoal  Pitta,  the  young  pastor  in  Piumhy,  one  of 
the  fields  of  the  East  Brazil  Mission. 

Benedict  was  a young  negro  cook,  servant  of 
some  avaricious  priest.  He  used  to  steal  every  day 
food  and  other  things  to  give  to  the  poor.  One  day 
the  priest  called  to  Benedict  as  he  was  going  out  with 
a basket  of  stolen  food  for  the  poor:  “What  have 
you  in  the  basket,  Benedict?”  And  he,  in  confusion, 
answered:  “Flowers.”  “Open  the  basket  at  once.” 

65 


And  to  the  negro’s  great  surprise,  he  found,  upon 
opening  the  basket,  that  the  food  had  been  changed 
into  flowers.  Arriving  at  the  home  of  the  poor  the 
flowers  turned  again  into  food.  Such  is  the  story  of 
this  “holy  man,”  one  of  the  chief  intercessors  before 
God.  Here,  too,  is  one  of  the  great  fallacies  of  the 
Romish  Church,  that  “the  end  justifies  the  means.” 
He  was  a thief  and  a holy  man ! 

— Mrs.  S.  R.  Gammon. 

Out  of  the  Dark  into  the  Light 

A few  years  ago,  in  one  of  the  little  towns  of  in- 
terior Brazil,  I was  asked  to  go  and  see  a woman  who 
was  very  sick.  I knew  her  by  reputation  as  one  of 
the  most  religious  women  in  the  community.  She 
was  noted  for  the  festivals  which  she  celebrated  for 
the  numerous  images  in  her  oratory;  for  the  many 
pilgrimages  which  she  had  made  to  the  cfistant  mira- 
cle shrines;  for  her  punctilious  observance  of  all  the 
requirements  of  the  ceremonial  law  of  her  church. 
Like  the  woman  of  the  Gospel  story,  “She  had  spent 
all  her  living”  in  trying  to  get  peace  for  her  soul. 
But  the  words  of  the  Master  had  come  true:  in 
drinking  of  the  earthly  fountains,  her  thirst  had  never 
been  quenched,  and  as  she  lay  on  what  proved  to  be 
her  death-bed,  her  soul  was  in  despair,  and  she  sent 
asking  that  the  Protestant  minister  might  come  to 
her. 

She  had  never  entered  our  church  hall,  for  the 
most  awful  lies  about  our  services  had  been  diligently 
propagated.  We  were  “emisaries  of  the  devil,  we 


66 


prayed  to  the  devil,  we  sang  hymns  in  honor  of  the 
devil,”  etc.,  and  so  the  poor  woman  had  been  afraid 
to  come  to  our  services. 

I went  to  the  house,  and  they  took  me  back  to  the 
room  where  the  poor  soul  lay.  As  I stood  for  a mo- 
ment and  looked  at  her,  my  heart  went  out  in  a very 
earnest  prayer  that  God  would  never  ask  me  again  to 
look  into  another  such  face.  Oh,  I hope  that  never 
again  may  I see  such  anguish,  such  utter  despair, 
such  terrible  bitterness  in  a woman’s  eyes.  I tried 
to  talk  to  her  about  her  soul,  but  suddenly  she  cried 
out,  in  the  most  awful  tone,  a tone  which  will  ring 
in  my  soul  until  the  judgment  day:  ‘'Oh,  don’t  talk 
to  me  about  dying!  I cannot  die.  Oh,  I am  afraid 
to  die  I It  is  so  dreadful  out  there.  Oh,  it  is  so  dark 
out  there !”  An  eternity  without  Christ  is  dark ; it  is 
utter,  hopeless  darkness ! And  that  woman  was 
facing  the  dark  alone ! 

I told  her  of  her  Saviour,  who  died  for  her;  of  the 
loving  Father  in  heaven,  who  loved  her  and  who  was 
calling  her  to  come  home  to  Himself.  How  she 
drank  it  in! 

Two  days  later,  a messenger  called  and  told  me 
to  come  very  quickly,  as  the  woman  was  dying  and 
wanted  to  see  me.  I went  down  to  the  house,  and  as 
I entered  through  the  little  narrow  hallway,  I stum- 
bled over  the  body  of  the  husband,  lying  there  dead 
drunk  on  the  floor.  He  had  lived  as  a beast  all  his 
days  and  had  treated  her  as  one.  By  the  mother’s 
side  were  the  two  little  children—one  a babe  in  arms, 
and  the  other  about  two  years  old.  You  who  are 
mothers,  think  of  leaving  your  babies  to  such  a hus- 


67 


band!  But,  oh,  as  I stood  and  looked  down  into  the 
quiet  face,  how  I did  thank  God  for  the  wonderful 
Saviour  we  have.  Now  there  was  peace  and  joy  in 
that  face.  I stooped  and  said  to  her,  “My  sister,  are 
you  afraid  to  die  now?”  And  the  eyes  opened  for  the 
last  time  on  earth,  radiant  with  that  light  which  never 
shone  on  earth  or  sea,  and  she  spoke  so  quickly,  “Oh, 
no,  I am  not  afraid  now;  I know  that  I am  just  going 
home  to  my  Father.  It  is  all  light  now.”  And  she 
was  gone;  out  of  the  dark,  into  the  light! 

—By  Rev.  R.  F.  Lenington. 

The  Scare  Crow  Image 

Several  years  ago  a rich  farmer  in  Brazil  had  a 
sick  wife.  They  were  ignorant  and  superstitious  and 
visited  many  shrines  in  the  hope  that  a cure  might  be 
wrought. 

The  farmer  had  a rice  field,  and  as  the  crop 
ripened  the  birds  became  troublesome,  so  he  told  one 
of  his  slaves  to  make  a scarecrow.  As  the  slave  was 
a carpenter,  he  made  a good  one  out  of  a log,  and 
dressed  it  up  in  some  old  clothes.  After  the  rice  was 
harvested  a big  flood  came  along  and  carried  the 
scarecrow  down  the  river  for  some  miles.  Some  boys 
found  it,  and  told  the  village  priest.  He  warned 
them  not  to  tell  anybody  what  they  had  discovered.  He 
then  went  and  got  the  scarecrow  and  put  it  up  in  the 
church,  telling  the  people  it  was  an  image  of  a saint 
fallen  from  heaven,  that  would  work  miracles  and 
cures.  People  flocked  from  far  and  near,  and 
brought  money,  hoping  to  get  relief  from  various  ills. 


68 


The  sick  wife  of  the  farmer,  learning  of  the  im- 
age, asked  her  husband  to  take  her  to  visit  it,  in  the 
hope  of  getting  a cure.  Her  husband  told  her  he  had 
little  faith  in  its  value,  but  if  she  wanted  to  go  he 
would  take  her.  They  took  with  them,  to  look  after 
the  horses,  the  slave  who  had  made  the  scarecrow 
for  the  rice  field.  When  they  reached  the  church  and 
the  slave  walked  in  behind  them,  he  laughed  aloud 
when  he  saw  the  image  of  the  saint.  He  was  reproved 
for  his  irreverence  by  his  mistress,  until  he  declared 
that  the  saint  set  up  by  the  priest  was  no  other  than 
the  scarecrow  which  he  himself  had  made. 

• — Facts  related  by  Rev.  George  A.  Landes. 

Why  a Man  of  Sixty  Learned  to  Read 

Henrique  Gomes,  a devoted  man  of  sixty,  was 
living  in  the  country  in  Brotas,  in  the  State  of  Sao 
Paulo,  Brazil.  In  his  home  was  a shrine  at  which  he 
and  his  wife  and  thirteen  children  worshiped  each 
day.  It  so  happened  that  one  day,  some  years  ago, 
one  of  our  missionaries,  Dr.  Chamberlain,  came  to 
this  town  to  preach.  There  attended  the  service  a 
vicious  man,  horse  racer  and  gambler.  He  was  im- 
pressed by  what  he  heard,  and  told  Mr.  Gomes  the 
next  day  about  the  service,  and  said  if  in  his  youth 
he  had  heard  such  teaching  he  would  be  a different 
man.  He  said  the  missionary  had  preached  from  a 
book  called  the  Bible.  '‘What  is  the  Bible  ?’"  asked 
Mr.  Gomes.  The  other  man  could  not  tell  him.  Mr. 
Gomes  said  he  would  ask  the  priest.  The  priest  re- 
plied, “It  is  the  word  of  God.^^  “The  word  of  God!” 


said  Mr.  Gomes,  “and  you  never  told  me  there  was 
such  a book.  I am  going  to  get  it.”  “Much  good  it 
will  do  you,”  said  the  priest.  “You  do  not  know  how 
to  read.”  “If  that’s  it,  I will  learn  how  to  read,”  re- 
plied his  parishioner.  So  this  man  of  sixty  secured 
a teacher  and  learned  with  his  children  to  read. 

In  the  Bible  he  read  in  the  second  commandment 
that  it  is  wrong  to  have  images;  so  he  took  down  his 
images  of  the  saints  from  the  shrine  in  his  home,  put 
them  in  a sack  and  threw  them  in  the  river.  His  old 
mother  said  if  Henrique  did  this,  he  must  have  some 
good  reason,  and  so  she  would  destroy  her’s,  too. 

The  whole  family  became  believers  and  Mr. 
Gomes  was  later  elected  an  elder  in  the  Presbyterian 
Church.  Meeting  Mr.  Chamberlain  after  his  con- 
version, he  asked  the  missionary  if  his  father  and 
grandfather  knew  about  Christ,  and  if  so,  why  they 
did  not  come  and  tell  them. 

Mr.  Gomes  became  the  center  of  Christian  influ- 
ence. He  was  the  constable  of  his  district,  and 
whereas  before  he  became  a Christian  there  were 
frequent  fights  and  arrests ; after  he  became  a believer, 
he  himself  acted  as  peacemaker  between  quarreling 
families  and  changed  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the 
district. 

— By  Rev.  George  A.  Landes 


70 


Why  So  Paori  Would  Not  Worship  the  Image 


He  was  a tiny  boy  of  Brazil  and  lived  within  a 
stone’s  throw  of  a beautiful  orange  grove.  He  had 
only  heard  about  Jesus  a short  time  before  the  inci- 
dent, of  which  you  are  now  to  hear,  occurred,  but 
so  full  was  he  of  the  good  news  that  he  told  it  every- 
where he  went. 

So  Paori,  for  this  was  his  name,  had  been  brought 
up  to  worship  images,  and  to  pray  to  Mary,  the  Moth- 
er of  Jesus,  but  one  day  a missionary  came  and  told 
him  that  although  Mary  was  a wonderful  woman 
whom  the  heavenly  Father  loved  very  much,  she 
was  not  to  be  worshiped  as  God.  So  Paori  believed 
the  missionary  and  had  ceased  to  believe  in  images 
or  pray  to  the  Virgin  Mary. 

Not  far  from  Curityba,  in  the  town  where  So 
Paori  lived,  there  was  built  a beautiful  new  Roman 
Catholic  church.  It  was  ready  for  services,  except 
for  one  thing,  it  had  no  patron  saint  and  no  image  of 
such  saint  on  the  altar. 

A company  of  villagers  gathered  to  talk  the  mat- 
ter over.  All  the  money  had  been  spent  on  the  build- 
ing itself ; therefore,  the  image  must  be  inexpensive, 
and  be  made  of  wood  instead  of  carved  stone  or 
metal.  After  they  had  talked  quite  a while  Paori, 
who  was  standing  with  the  crowd  listening,  heard  an 
orange  grower  say,  “Well,  you  can  have  one  of  my 
orange  trees,  if  some  one  of  you  can  carve  an  image 
from  the  trunk.”  A carpenter  spoke  up  quickly  and 
said  he  would  do  the  carving  for  nothing,  so  the 
crowd  walked  down  the  path  into  the  grove  where 


71 


the  trees  were  heavy  with  delicious  fruit  and  they 
cut  down  the  tree,  So  Paori  and  the  other  children 
scrambling  for  the  oranges  as  they  were  shaken 
down. 

Two  weeks  passed,  and  word  came  from  the  car- 
penter that  the  image  was  ready.  A time  was  ap- 
pointed, and  it  was  taken  with  much  ceremony  to 
the  church.  Here  a crowd  waited  to  do  it  homage, 
and  after  the  priest  blessed  it,  the  crowd  bowed  in 
wonder  before  it,  presenting  to  it  gifts  of  tinsel, 
jewelry  and  bright  bits  of  calico.  All  bowed  except 
little  So  Paori,  who  stood  erect,  his  head  thrown 
back  and  his  tiny  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets. 

‘"So  Paori,  bend  the  knee,’’  said  the  priest.  So 
Paori  shook  his  head.  The  priest  repeated  his  com- 
mand, his  face  becoming  red  with  anger  at  the  child’s 
attitude. 

“You  won’t,  won’t  you;  well,  why  won’t  you?” 
he  asked,  shaking  the  child  rudely  by  the  shoulders. 

“I’ll  tell  you  why  I won’t,  padre.  I used  to  know 
that  image  very  intimately  when  it  was  only  an  orange 
tree,  and  I’m  not  going  to  worship  it  as  God  now.” 

— From  story  told  the  editor  by  Mrs.  MacLaren. 
In  Over  Sea  and  Land,  June,  1910. 

Afraid  of  the  Bible 

In  Brazilian  homes  the  Bible  is  almost  unknown. 
Many  children  have  never  heard  of  it,  and  many  peo- 
ple live  and  die  without  ever  seeing  a Bible. 

Rev.  H.  C.  Tucker  of  the  American  Bible  Society 
tells  of  a man  he  met  who  was  so  afraid  of  the  Bible 


72 


that  he  refused  even  to  look  at  or  handle  it.  He  said 
he  was  afraid  to  touch  it,  that  really  he  had  as  soon 
take  hold  of  the  most  poisonous  snake  as  to  touch 
that  book;  he  believed  if  he  were  to  take  it  in  his 
hand,  he  would  fall  dead  on  the  spot;  and  trembling 
with  fear  he  asked  the  agent  to  move  on. 

The  children  are  never  told  of  the  One  who  is  al- 
ways ready  to  hear  and  answer  prayer,  but  are  taught 
to  bow  down  before  images,  to  make  promises  to  the 
saints,  or  to  make  long  journeys  to  visit  some  holy 
spot,  in  order  to  obtain  answers  to  their  prayers. 
There  is  a large  granite  rock  in  the  State  of  Parana, 
not  far  from  where  I lived,  that  is  constantly  visited 
by  persons  who  go  there  to  worship.  They  say  there 
are  marks  on  it  which  are  the  footprints  left  by  the 
animal  that  carried  Mary  and  the  child  Jesus  down 
into  Egypt  when  they  were  fleeing  from  Herod.  Just 
think  of  it!  What  a long  journey  they  must  have 
had! 

— By  Mrs.  G.  A.  Sands,  in  Over  Sea  and  Land, 
June,  1911. 

Our  Little  Cousins  in  Brazil 

Almost  as  soon  as  a child  is  born  in  a Roman 
Catholic  family  in  Brazil  the  priest  is  sent  for  to 
christen  it.  If  not  baptized,  it  is  believed  that  the 
child,  should  it  die,  would  go  to  a dreadful  place 
known  as  “limbo.”  A little  rosary,  or  string  of 
beads,  with  a cross  attached  which  has  been  blessed 
by  the  priest  is  placed  about  the  child’s  neck.  The 
child  is  generally  given  the  name  of  the  saint  on 


73 


whose  day  it  is  born.  When  the  child  begins  to 
talk,  it  is  taught  to  speak  of  God  as  “our  Papa  in 
heaven.”  Jesus  they  call  “the  little  child  Jesus.” 
They  know  nothing  of  Him  as  the  Saviour. 

The  children  in  Brazil  have  little  or  nothing  to 
help  them  live  pure  and  beautiful  lives.  They  are 
encouraged  to  be  vain,  deceitful,  and  false.  They 
learn  to  use  vile  and  vulgar  words.  They  grow  old 
in  the  ways  of  the  world  while  they  are  yet  chil- 
dren. There  are  no  Sunday  schools  (only  those  in 
connection  with  the  mission  schools),  no  books 
and  papers  suitable  to  their  years,  no  sweet  hymns. 
At  all  the  Romish  services  there  are  nothing  but 
Latin  chants,  not  one  word  of  which  is  understood. 
They  are  taught  to  look  first  of  all  to  the  Virgin 
Mary  for  salvation.  The  priests  proclaim  Mary  as 
the  door  of  heaven.  Christ  is  only  a minor  charac- 
ter in  the  plan  of  salvation.  He  can  do  nothing  un- 
less Mary  permits  it,  or  rather  unless  she  suggests 
it.  God  is  represented  as  an  angry  judge  with 
whom  Mary  must  intercede.  When  our  little 
cousins  in  Brazil  go  over  their  rosary  on  saying 
their  prayers,  they  repeat  ten  prayers  to  Mary  to 
one  to  God.  The  very  heart  of  their  prayers  is 
ever  and  always : “Holy  Mary,  mother  of  God, 
pray  for  us  sinners  now  and  in  the  hour  of  death.” 
One  of  the  chief  teachings  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  which  is  here  copied  word  for  word,  is: 
“Many  things  asked  of  God  are  not  received;  but 
if  asked  of  Mary,  they  are  obtained.” 

The  children  in  Brazil  are  taught  to  regard  St. 
Anthony,  or  San  Antonio,  as  they  call  him,  as  the 


74 


great  saint  of  little  children,  the  one  on  whom  they 
call  for  help,  especially  if  they  want  to  win  in  a 
game  or  at  school.  St.  Anthony,  they  are  told,  was 
the  playfellow  of  Christ  when  he  was  a child;  that 
he  carried  Christ’s  playthings  for  Him  and  assisted 
Him  in  His  sports. 

The  one  great  cause  of  this  spiritual  darkness  is 
ignorance  of  the  Bible.  The  people  are  not  permit- 
ted to  read  the  Bible.  Only  the  priests  have  this 
privilege.  Their  excuse  for  keeping  the  Bible  from 
the  people  is  that  the  people  will  not  get  the  right 
meaning.  Therefore  the  teachings  of  the  Bible 
must  come  through  the  priests.  But  they  seldom 
teach  it  correctly,  and  very  often  it  is  taught  incor- 
rectly. For  instance,  in  the  Bible  of  the  Romish 
Church  the  second  commandment,  “Thou  shalt  not 
make  unto  thyself  any  graven  image,”  does  not 
appear. 

Instead  of  teaching  the  people  the  truth,  the 
priests  lead  them  off  into  all  kinds  of  errors.  They 
encourage  them  in  their  superstitions.  For  their 
own  selfish  purposes  they  keep  the  people  in  dark- 
ness. 

Rev.  H.  C.  Tucker,  of  Rio  de  Janeiro,  Brazil, 
tells  of  a man  he  met  while  traveling  on  a train  who 
had  with  him  a boy  of  nine  years,  terribly  burned 
on  his  face,  neck,  and  arms.  The  man  kept  near 
him  a huge  bundle  over  which  he  watched  closely. 
Mr.  Tucker  learned  that  the  bundle  contained  fifty 
pounds  of  candles.  The  man  and  boy  were  on  their 
way  to  the  shrine  of  a saint  who  had  the  power  to 
overcome  fire.  The  man  told  Mr.  Tucker  that  when 


75 


the  boy  was  two  years  old  he  had  been  fearfully 
burned.  The  priest  had  encouraged  the  father  to 
pray  to  this  saint.  When  the  boy  got  well,  the 
father  made  a vow  that  as  soon  as  he  possibly 
could  he  would  place  the  child’s  weight  in  candles 
before  the  shrine  of  the  saint  in  a distant  town.  It 
had  taken  him  seven  years  to  save  the  money  to 
buy  the  candles,  for  he  was  a poor  man. 

— By  A.  M.  B.,  Foreign  Department  Woman’s 
Missionary  Council,  M.  E.  Church. 


76 


Latin  American  Stories 

VI 

VENEZUELA 

Moving  Stores 

South  America  is  a land  of  moving  stores.  Stores 
on  four  legs,  stores  on  two  legs.  Water-venders 
carry  water  in  skin  bags  and  sell  it  by  the  cup.  The 
milkman  of  South  America  takes  his  cow  along  with 
him.  The  bakery  usually  consists  of  two  donkeys 
wearing  pocket  blankets  and  in  these  blankets  are 
scores  of  loaves  of  bread  and  dozens  of  strange,  dry 
bread  that  the  poorest  people  eat.^ 

Bullocks  draw  carts  laden  with  household  goods, 
but  will  not  deliver  purchases  to  your  house,  and  you 
must  play  delivery  wagon,  and  put  your  pride  in  your 
pocket  if  you  mean  to  buy  a kettle,  boiler,  washboard 
or  any  of  the  many  things  a missionary  will  need. 

I say  that  a missionary  will  need  because  the  na- 
tives of  South  America,  though  they  do  use  kettles, 
never  use  boilers,  and  the  very  thought  of  boiling 
clothes  or  rubbing  them  on  a washboard  would  make 
them  call  on  the  saints  to  preserve  them  and  you  from 
such  shocking  extravagances  and  I confess  that  to 
wash  their  clothes  in  the  way  to  which  we  are  accus- 
tomed would  doubtless  make  them  fall  apart;  first, 
because  they  are  of  such  poor  quality,  and  secondly, 
because  they  wear  them  until  they  are  literally  pot 
black. 


77 


Do  you  know  how  the  children  of  Venezuela  take 
a bath?  The  country  is  hilly,  and  when  the  rain 
comes  it  washes  down  the  streets  and  makes  great 
pools  in  the  valleys.  In  these  the  children  bathe. 
And  in  the  river  the  grown  people  take  their  ‘Tub” 
on  special  occasions. 

One  of  the  most  profitable  trades  of  South 
America  is  that  of  image  selling.  Tall  images,  short 
images,  wooden  images,  stone  images,  images  for  a 
fraction  of  a cent  apiece  and  images— but  there  are 
very  few  of  these- — costing  many  dollars.  The  deal- 
ers carry  their  ware  on  their  backs  and  their  arms, 
and  start  out  laden  with  the  statues,  to  return,  often, 
at  night,  empty  handed. 

— From  Over  Sea  and  Land,  June,  1910. 

Selling  the  Bible  on  Lake  Maracaibo^ 

A short  time  ago  we  visited  a small  city  on  the 
other  shore  of  Lake  Maracaibo,  Venezuela,  for  the 
purpose  of  spreading  the  Scriptures.  We  called  on 
the  mayor  first  of  all,  and  he  received  us  very  cor- 
dially, bought  a Bible,  and  took  us  out  to  introduce 
us  to  some  of  the  prominent  people  of  the  city. 
Then  we  started  out  from  house  to  house,  selling 
the  Scriptures.  At  first  the  people  were  somewhat 
suspicious,  but  soon  the  news  about  the  little  book- 
lets and  the  foreigners  selling  them  spread  through 
the  town,  and  the  people  grew  more  and  more  in- 
terested in  getting  the  Word  of  God.  They  even 
called  to  us  from  the  houses  asking  for  the  Gospel. 
The  little  boys  came  running  with  their  pennies 
and  asked,  “Have  you  a Gospel  of  Luke?”  “May 
I have  a Gospel  of  John?”  etc.  We  had  only  one 

78 


day  to  stay,  and  we  tried  to  cover  as  large  a part 
of  the  town  as  possible  in  that  time.  Some  of  the 
young  men  were  so  interested  that  they  went  with 
us  from  house  to  house  introducing  us  and  recom- 
mending the  books.  The  result  was  that  before 
evening  we  had  entirely  exhausted  our  supplies, 
and  everywhere  people  were  seen  reading  or  talking 
about  the  Scriptures. 

When  we  were  ready  to  leave  we  met  the  mayor 
again,  and  while  we  stood  on  a street  corner  talk- 
ing to  him,  a man  came  up  and  said  somebody  had 
told  him  that  our  books  were  bad  and  that  one  of 
them  had  been  torn  to  pieces.  When  the  mayor 
heard  that  he  said: 

“These  books  are  good  and  they  are  not  to  be 
torn  up.  If  they  were  not  good  books  I would  not 
allow  them  to  be  sold  in  this  city.’’ 

This  man  is  far  from  being  a Christian,  but  he 
knew  that  the  reading  of  the  Bible  would  have  a 
good  influence  over  the  lives  of  the  people,  and  he 
desired  to  improve  the  moral  life  in  the  town. 

We  certainly  had  a remarkable  day,  and  the 
whole  city  seemed  stirred  by  a power  from  God. 
The  priest  was  out  of  town  that  day;  but  he  is  sure 
to  make  a fight  against  the  Gospel.  Yet  God  has 
promised  to  watch  over  His  Word. 

These  people  often  have  a hard  struggle  before 
they  dare  to  read  and  search  the  “forbidden  book.” 
Not  long  ago  I offered  a little  book,  containing  ex- 
tracts from  the  Bible,  to  a young  man.  He  took  the 
book  and  looked  into  it,  but  when  he  saw  that  it 
was  from  the  Bible  he  said  that  it  was  forbidden  to 
read  it. 


79 


Whenever  I hear  anyone  say  such  things,  that 
are  contrary  to  God’s  Word  and  the  truth,  I have 
a habit  of  asking  him,  “Who  says  so?”  even  though 
I know  very  well  who  gives  such  commands.  But 
it  always  gives  a good  chance  to  tell  about  a higher 
authority,  who  also  has  something  to  say  in  the 
matter.  I asked  this  man  the  same  question,  and 
of  course  I received  the  usual  answer.  “The  priests 
say  so.”  To  this  I said  nothing,  but  opened  my 
Bible  and  showed  the  young  man  some  places 
where  God  speaks  to  us  about  reading  His  Word, 
and  about  the  blessings  we  receive  from  reading  it. 
Then  I asked  him  whether  he  thought  that  it  would 
be  wise  for  me  to  obey  the  commands  of  some  in- 
ferior or  pretended  officer  of  this  city  if  he  com- 
manded something  that  was  contrary  to  the  wishes 
of  the  highest  authorites  or  the  laws  of  the  coun- 
try. This  opened  his  eyes  some,  and  he  admitted 
that  it  would  be  dangerous  for  me  to  do  so.  Now 
he  was  willing  to  read  the  Bible  further,  and  for 
two  hours  we  continued  to  search  the  Scriptures. 
Afterward  he  was  glad  to  take  the  book  home  and 
read  it. 

In  this  way  the  first  seed  must  be  sown  all  over 
South  America.  What  happened  in  the  above-men- 
tioned town  might  well  happen  in  hundreds  of 
others,  if  there  were  workers  to  go  to  them. 

May  the  people  of  North  America  see  the  re- 
sponsibility they  have  for  these  people  ,their  next- 
door  neighbors. 

— From  the  Bible  Society  Record,  October,  1907. 


80 


Latin  American  Stories 

VII 

BOLIVIA,  PERU  and  ECUADOR 

Carrying  the  Bible  to  South  America’s  Darkest 
Fields 

The  darkest  part  of  the  American  hemisphere 
is  found  in  the  republics  of  Bolivia,  Peru  and  Ecua- 
dor— the  old  empire  of  the  Incas.  . . . The  consti- 
tution and  laws  have  put  more  restrictions  on  re- 
ligious liberty  in  those  countries  than  anywhere 
else  in  all  America.  The  Inquisition  was  not  finally 
abolished  till  1821.  As  late  as  1836  the  penalty  was 
death  for  holding  any  worship  other  than  the 
Roman  Catholic  in  Bolivia  and  Peru.  As  late  as 
1896  the  constitution  of  Ecuador  excluded  all  other 
worship.  To  this  day  in  the  three  republics 
Protestants  are  subject  to  exceptional  legal  priva- 
tions. A colporteur  in  Argentina,  named  Jose 
Mongiardino,  after  good  success  in  the  northern 
provinces  of  that  republic,  could  not  rest  when  they 
told  him  that  he  must  not  cross  the  frontier  into 
Bolivia.  At  last  he  did  cross  it  with  a small  quan- 
tity of  books,  but  a high  ecclesiastical  functionary 
of  Contagaita,  one  of  the  cities  that  he  canvassed, 
had  declared  that  Mongiardino  would  not  get  out 
of  Bolivia  alive.  In  a lonely  place  on  the  road  he 
was  beset  by  two  emissaries  of  the  priesthood  and 
murdered.  . . . Heroes  were  not  lacking  to  fol- 
low in  his  footsteps,  though  the  difficulties  seemed 


81 


insurmountable.  One  reached  the  frontier,  but  was 
providentially  turned  back.  Two  others  reached 
Sucre  by  a rapid  rush,  and  then  turned  back.  At 
last,  however,  a band  of  three  from  the  east  coast 
pushed  a steady  canvass  clear  through  Bolivia  and 
on  through  Peru,  returning  to  Montevideo  by  sea 
to  report  that  the  land  of  the  Incas  was  penetrable. 
One  of  these  was  Andrew  M.  Milne,  the  veteran 
agent  of  the  American  Bible  Society,  who  deserves 
to  be  called  the  Livingstone  of  South  America. 

— Thomas  B.  Wood. 


Si 


Latin  American  Stories 

VIII 

NEW  MEXICO 
THE  POWER  OF  GOD’S  WORD 
Three  Illustrations 

When  Rev.  Samuel  Gorman  was  recalled  from 
New  Mexico  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War,  he 
left  behind  him  at  least  one  Spanish  Bible.  This 
was  in  the  possession  of  a young-  man  who  had  been 
in  Mr.  Gorman’s  employ.  He  continued  to  read 
the  Bible  and  when  he  married  he  read  it  to  his  wife, 
who  learned  to  believe  in  the  Book  and  love  it  as 
her  husband  did.  There  was  no  Protestant  church, 
no  missionary  to  help  them,  and  so  they  worshiped 
alone  until  the  Congregational  Church  established 
a mission  in  their  vicinity.  This  man,  who  was  still 
living  in  1914,  was  the  first  convert  of  Protestant 
missions  in  New  Mexico. 

A Spanish  Bible  was  picked  up  on  the  road  near 
Las  Vegas  in  1868,  the  finder  exchanging  it  for  a 
spelling  book.  The  man  with  whom  he  made  the 
exchange  was  fond  of  reading,  and  began  at  once 
to  study  his  new  book.  He  gained  some  knowl- 
edge of  the  way  of  life  and  told  the  story  to  others 
as  well  as  he  could,  in  a wonderful  way  preparing 
the  field  for  missionaries  who  later  reached  his 
neighborhood. 


83 


Father  Gomez  was  another  to  whom  the  Word 
was  revealed.  His  ancestors  came  to  this  country 
with  the  Spanish  conquerors,  living  in  the  manner 
of  the  patriarchal  families  for  three  hundred  years. 
In  some  way  he  had  seen  a Spanish  Bible  and  was 
impressed  with  the  truths  it  contained.  Although 
he  was  a poor  man  he  determined  to  possess  a copy. 
He  borrowed  a yoke  of  oxen  and  with  another  ox 
to  sell,  started  on  his  journey  of  15  miles  to  Santa 
Fe  to  secure  the  Book.  The  ox  was  sold  for  $25, 
and  the  Bible  purchased.  Father  Gomez  read  with 
joy;  accepting  the  teachings  and  telling  his  friends 
of  the  love  of  God,  he  formed  them  into  a group  of 
Bible  Christians,  among  whom  a church  was  soon 
organized  when  Presbyterian  missionaries  came 
to  them.  When  the  General  Assembly  of  that  de- 
nomination met  in  New  York  in  1889  a young  man 
spoke  before  a group  of  women  holding  that  price- 
less Bible  in  his  hands.  It  had  lost  its  covers  from, 
use.  The  young  man,  a grandson  of  Father  Gomez, 
told  what  a power  it  had  been  in  bringing  people  to 
God,  and  said  in  closing,  'T  bless  and  praise  God  for 
the  priceless  gift,  and  I would  not  part  with  it  for 
all  the  world  beside.’’ 

—From  McLean- William  s’ 

“Old  Spain  in  New  America” 


The  Two  Captures  of  Acoma 

From  Laguna,  New  Mexico,  you  may  drive  to 
historic  Acoma,  the  “sky  city”  of  the  Indians,  lo- 
cated on  a lofty  rock.  Back  in  1598,  this  strong- 

84 


hold  was  attacked  by  the  Spanish  general  Don 
Juan  Ohate,  who  sought  to  subdue  all  the  Pueblo 
Indians  of  New  Mexico.  “The  chief  men  came 
down  and  invited  Ohate  and  his  followers  to  visit 
them.  They  finally  consented,  and  barely  escaped 
annihilation  at  the  hands  of  the  Indians.  The 
refusal  of  Onate  to  enter  Estufu,  or  underground 
Council  House,  was  all  that  saved  them.  The 
Indians  had  concealed  a band  of  armed  warriors  in 
the  darkness,  prepared  to  avenge  the  sufferings  of 
their  countrymen  in  the  other  pueblos. 

In  November  of  the  same  year  the  “Sky  City” 
was  again  visited  by  another  Spanish  force  under 
Juan  de  Zaldivar,  and  when  they  were  scattered 
about  the  village  the  Indians  suddenly  attacked 
from  all  sides;  of  the  whole  band  four  only  escaped 
by  a daring  leap  from  the  cliff,  fortunately  striking 
upon  great  sand  heaps  below. 

In  January  of  the  following  year  a brother  of 
Zaldivar  made  an  attack  upon  Acoma  and  after  a 
most  bloody  battle  succeeded  in  capturing  the 
place,  but  only  after  nearly  all  the  defenders  were 
killed.  Acoma  was  later  repeopled  by  the  Indians, 
but  they  never  were  friendly  to  their  Spanish 
conquerors. 

The  second  capture  of  Acoma  was  in  1629  by 
the  good  Fray  Juan  Ramirez.  This  apostle  to  the 
Indians  determined  to  establish  a mission  upon  the 
lofty  rock,  and  alone  left  Santa  Fe,  refusing  an 
escort  of  soldiers,  bearing  no  weapon  but  love  in 
his  heart  and  the  crucifix  in  his  hand.  Footsore 


85 


and  weary  he  came  to  the  foot  of  the  rock,  but  as 
he  began  the  ascent  of  the  narrow  stairway  the 
Indians  poured  down  upon  him  such  a flight  of  ar- 
rows that  he  was  compelled  to  take  refuge  under 
the  over-hanging  cliff.  Just  then  a little  girl  toppled 
and  fell  from  the  summit,  but  was  caught  by  a 
sand-covered  ledge  out  of  sight  of  the  people  above, 
who  supposed  she  had  fallen  to  her  death.  The 
Fray  quickly  gathered  the  child  in  his  arms  and 
stepping  boldly  into  the  path  once  more,  carried  her 
safel)^  to  the  top  of  the  rock.  The  Indians,  believ- 
ing a miracle  had  been  wrought,  received  him  rev- 
erently, as  one  coming  from  the  gods.  For  more 
than  twenty  years  he  dwelt  among  them,  teaching 
them  to  read  and  write  and  instructing  them  in  the 
doctrines  of  the  Church.  He  was  greatly  beloved 
by  them,  and  his  name  with  that  of  Las  Casas 
should  be  written  in  letters  of  gold  over  against 
the  black  record  of  so  many  of  the  adventurers. 
The  Franciscans  won,  in  a most  remarkable  man- 
ner, the  love  and  confidence  of  the  Indians,  and 
their  consecration  and  benevolent  interest  in  the 
victims  of  Spanish  exploitation  is  the  one  bright 
page  in  the  history  of  Spanish  conquest  in  America. 
One  of  the  most  interesting,  most  majestic  and 
massive  of  the  old  churches  stands  on  the  rock  of 
Acoma,  recalling  the  conquest  of  peace  by  Fray 
Ramirez.’’ 

— From  McLean- Willi  AM  s’ 
'‘Old  Spain  in  New  America.” 


86 


Children’s  Day  in  Purgatory 

“Suppose  you  were  taught  that  they  observe 
‘children’s  day’  in  purgatory;  that  every  child  there 
for  whom  friends  on  earth  buy  a candle  will  have  a 
lighted  candle  to  carry  in  the  procession,  and  that 
every  child  for  whom  a candle  is  not  bought  on 
earth  marches  with  the  procession,  but  with  its  up- 
raised finger  burning;  would  you  not,  if  you  be- 
lieved it,  pay  any  price  for  a candle,  so  your  child 
might  not  have  its  finger  burn? 

“Suppose  you  were  taught  that  unless  you  had 
the  priest’s  forgiveness  for  your  sins  and  his  bless- 
ing as  you  lay  on  your  dying  bed  that  you  would  go 
to  hell ; would  you  not  get  money  from  any  source, 
so  you  might  have  the  sprinkling  with  holy  water 
and  the  anointing  with  oil  at  the  hand  of  the  priest 
who  had  the  keeping  of  your  soul  in  his  hand? 

“►Suppose  you  believed  that  your  baby  would 
be  lost  unless  the  priest  baptized  that  child ; would 
you  not  get  the  money  for  the  baptism  and  give  it 
to  the  priest,  no  matter  at  what  sacrifice?” 

These  are  things  which  the  priests  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  have  been  teaching  to  the  super- 
stious  Mexicans  in  New  Mexico,  right  within  the 
borders  of  the  United  States. 

— From  McLean-Williams’ 
“Old  Spain  in  New  America.” 

The  Penitentes  of  New  Mexico 

The  Order  of  Penitent  Brothers  was  even  more 
active  in  the  days  of  the  early  missionaries  than  it 

87 


is  to-day.  This  is  the  development  of  the  Third 
Order  of  Saint  Francais,  the  name  having  been 
changed  three  centuries  ago  in  Spain  before  the 
Franciscan  monks  brought  it  to  this  country.  In 
America  self-torture  was  added  to  the  original  re- 
quirements of  the  order.  The  members,  some 
twenty-five  or  thirty-five  thousand  strong,  claim 
allegiance  to  the  Catholic  Church,  although  the 
Church  will  not  allow  the  celebration  of  their  rites 
within  its  buildings.  Men  and  women  are  mem- 
bers, the  women  meeting  separately  except  during 
the  services  of  Holy  Week.  Good  Friday  is  the 
day  on  which  the  religious  rites  are  especially  car- 
ried out,  although  each  Friday  in  Lent  service  is 
conducted  at  the  Morado  and  processions  are  held 
at  night  in  which  torture  is  undergone.  On  Good 
Friday  is  held  what  is  called  the  Procession  to  Cal- 
vary. Several  men  carry  heavy  wooden  crosses 
bound  to  their  naked  backs.  Others,  stripped  to 
the  waist,  scourge  themselves  as  they  pass  along 
the  road  with  scourges  dipped  in  salt  water  to  make 
them  sting  more  cruelly.  The  backs  bleed  under 
the  cutting  scourge  and  men,  exhausted  through 
pain,  fall  down  only  to  be  urged  on  by  those  attend- 
ing them. 

The  general  idea  that  the  Crucifixion  as  enacted 
by  the  Penitentes  is  dying  out  is  denied  by  those 
who  are  upon  the  scene.  The  nailing  of  the  victim, 
or  hero,  as  he  prefers  to  be  regarded,  to  the  cross, 
does  not  take  place,  although  he  begs  for  the  nails, 
believing  the  endurance  of  this  greater  agony  is  a 
glory  to  him;  but  a man  is  stretched,  bound  with 


ropes  upon  the  cross,  his  side  pierced  until  the  blood 
flows  from  it,  and  then  the  cross  is  elevated. 

In  “Our  Mexicans”  Rev.  Robert  M.  Craig  has 
given  a vivid  description  of  the  services  in  the 
Morado  or  Holy  Dwelling,  to  which  he  was  ad- 
mitted through  the  influence  of  a friend.  “The 
building  is  of  adobe,  with  large  sliding  doors  in  one 
end,  and  with  but  one  small,  round  hole  in  one  side 
for  light  and  ventilation.  The  floor  is  native  earth, 
except  at  the  end  where  the  altar  is  located.  In 
front  of  this  table,  on  a small  stool,  sit  two  men, 
each  holding  a stone  in  his  hand.  Directly  in  front 
of  the  stool,  but  on  the  earthen  floor  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  front  of  the  altar  platform,  is  a stand 
on  which  is  a wooden  triangle,  having  one  lighted 
candle  on  the  apex,  three  on  the  base,  and  five  on 
either  side.  In  front  of  this  the  Penitentes  stand 
facing  the  lights.  These  men  for  days  have  been 
torturing  themselves.  Now  their  heads  and  backs 
and  arms  are  bandaged.  These  men  we  would  sup- 
pose to  be  the  most  religious  in  the  community; 
instead,  they  are  regarded  by  the  people  as  the  most 
deluded  and  of  the  lower  class,  doing  penace  not 
only  for  the  sins  they  have  committed,  but  for 
those  which  they  intend  to  commit  during  the  com- 
ing year. 

“All  things  being  ready,  at  the  blast  of  a trum- 
pet the  meeting  is  in  progress.  The  choristers  un- 
der the  table  sing  and  play  one  verse.  The  men  in 
front  of  the  table  strike  three  times  on  the  seats 
with  the  stones  they  hold  in  their  hands,  then  one 
of  the  Penitentes  steps  forward  and  extinguishes 

89 


one  of  the  lights.  This  continues  until  all  the  lights 
but  one  have  disappeared.  There  is  silence  for  a 
moment.  Then  a large,  flat  surface,  probably  nine 
by  twelve  feet,  apparently  of  wood,  covered  with 
zinc,  wTich  in  its  turn  is  covered  with  leather,  is 
placed  on  the  floor.  The  doors  in  the  front  of  the 
building  are  closed  and  barred.  The  Hermanas 
range  themselves  about  the  room.  The  music  is 
again  started,  and  at  a given  signal  the  last  light 
is  gone.  From  boxes  and  barrels  previously  ranged 
round  the  room,  ropes  'and  chains  and  sticks  are 
drawn,  and  for  about  one  half-hour  the  clashing  of 
chains  and  the  clamor  of  other  instruments  is 
maddening. 

“The  noise,  the  groans,  and  the  darkness  I can 
never  forget.  If  at  any  time  I want  an  illustration 
of  that  ‘outer  darkness’  I only  think  of  that  awful 
night  in  the  Penitentes’  meeting-house. 

“What  does  it  all  mean?  Not  ‘the  arrival  of  the 
soul  in  purgatory,’  as  some  one  has  said.  As  the 
candles  are  again  lighted,  I see  one  of  the  Peni- 
tentes go  forward  and  take  from  the  wall  a cross  on 
which  is  an  image  intended  to  represent  our  Sav- 
iour, who  has  died  during  the  darkness,  and  at  once 
the  whole  mystery  is  clear.  The  darkness,  with  all 
the  unearthly  sounds,  is  intended  to  represent  the 
transactions  at  Calvary  on  the  Good  Friday  night 
when  the  ‘King  of  Glory’  bowed  His  head  and  gave 
up  the  ghost. 

“After  this  service  the  image  on  the  cross  is 
borne  from  the  little  chapel  to  the  house  of  a friend 
where  entertainment  has  been  provided,  and  there 


90 


the  music  is  kept  up  until  the  morning,  when  all 
return  to  the  Morado,  from  which  they  go  to  their 
homes  in  peace.” 

— From  McLean-Williams’ 
“Old  Spain  in  New  America.” 


Burning  in  Hell 

Another  missionary  tells  of  a daring  attempt  of 
one  of  the  clergy  to  prove  to  his  people  the  punish- 
ment for  disobeying  the  authority  of  the  clergy: 
“A  mother  of  three  grown  sons  was  dying.  She 
had  come  to  doubt  the  sanctity  and  genuineness  of 
the  priesthood,  and  especially  of  the  priest  in  this 
particular  village,  and  her  last  request  was  that 
they  would  not  allow  him  to  bury  her.  This  request 
they  honored,  laying  her  away  without  the  relig- 
ious ceremony.  Soon  the  husband  was  called  upon 
by  the  priest  to  explain  why  he  did  not  request 
him  to  say  mass  at  the  burial.  He  told  his  wife’s 
wishes  in  the  matter.  The  priest  told  him  his  wife 
was  in  hell  and  would  remain  there  until  he  had 
mass  for  her  deliverance.  The  man  was  rather 
bold  and  dared  to  dispute  the  belief  that  his  wife 
was  in  torment,  ‘for,’  he  said,  ‘my  wife  was  a good 
woman.’  ‘I  will  prove  to  you  next  Sabbath,’  said 
the  priest,  ‘that  your  wife  is  burning  in  hell.’  It 
became  known  that  the  demonstration  was  to  take 
place,  so  there  was  a great  crowd  gathered  to  see 
the  work.  The  priest  led  the  way  to  the  cemetery, 
armed  with  his  vessel  of  holy  water  and  his  crucifix 
with  a long  staff.  When  he  reached  the  grave  he 


91 


pressed  the  staff  down  into  the  grave  some  two  feet 
or  more  and  worked  it  about  until  the  hole  was  left 
open.  He  then  poured  holy  water  into  the  hole. 
It  was  only  a little  while  until  a crackling  like  fire 
was  heard  and  something  like  smoke  began  to  es- 
cape. The  priest  had  made  good  and  told  the 
wicked  man  that  the  smoke  was  from  hell,  where 
his  wife  was  in  torment.  The  demonstration  was 
a success,  and  the  man  was  convinced,  and  began 
negotiations  with  the  priest  for  terms  to  get  her 
out.  He  was  told  that  owing  to  the  aggravation 
of  his  crime  it  would  take  $500.  This  he  could  not 
pay,  so  he  was  in  a great  state.  You  see  he  was  espe- 
cially guilty,  because  he  had  tried  to  evade  the 
established  forms  of  the  holy  church.  His  wife’s 
sister  came  to  the  rescue.  She  told  the  man  to 
make  no  contract,  but  to  go  home  with  her  and 
she  would  show  him  what  to  do.  He  did  so.  After 
all  had  gone  from  the  cemetery  she  told  her 
brother-in-law  to  get  a shovel  and  go  with  her. 
They  went  to  the  grave  and  opened  it  and  found 
there  a pile  of  quick  lime,  which,  of  course,  began 
to  slack  when  the  water  was  poured  on  it.  This 
happened  a few  years  ago,  but  thanks  to  Him  who 
will  lead  all  who  care  to  follow,  the  day  of  such 
things  is  fast  passing,  and  the  little  weak  churches 
and  the  mission  schools  are  bringing  about  the 
change,  slowly,  it  seems  at  times,  but  truly,  truly.” 

This  occurred  in  the  southwest  of  our  own 
United  States. 

—From  McLean- Willi  AM  s’ 
“Old  Spain  in  New  America.” 


92 


Latin  American  Stories 

IX 

CUBA 

CHILD  LIFE  IN  CUBA 

Let  us  go  to  Cuba  for  a little  visit  and  meet 
some  of  her  boys  and  girls.  I will  introduce  you  to 
Jose,  Manuel,  Dolores,  Horacio,  and  Angela.  They 
will  very  politely  shake  your  hand  and  say:  “Tengo 
much  gusto  de  conocerle”  (I  am  very  glad  to  know 
you).  Then  before  very  long  you  will  all  be  playing 
London  Bridge,  drop  the  handkerchief,  or  baseball. 
When  the  bell  rings  for  school,  they  will  become 
very  quiet,  step  into  line,  and  march  to  their  class- 
rooms. Some  of  them  will  study  their  lessons  in 
English  and  others  in  Spanish.  How  do  you  think 
you  would  like  to  study  arithmetic  or  geography  in 
Spanish  or  German  or  Chinese?  These  children  are 
anxious  to  learn  English;  so  they  study  their  les- 
sons hard,  though  many  times  they  make  very  funny 
mistakes. 

If  you  should  visit  the  public  schools,  you  would 
hear  the  children  studying  out  loud.  What  a per- 
fect hubbub ! But  that  is  the  Cuban  way. 

Now  I shall  tell  you  something  very  sad. 
Dolores  is  nearly  fifteen  years  old  and  will  soon  be 
too  big  to  come  to  school.  Next  year  she  will  have 
to  stay  at  home,  because  it  is  not  proper  for  her  to 
go  on  the  streets  alone  nor  to  carry  books.  Dolores 
speaks  English  well,  but  she  is  just  in  the  fourth 


93 


grade,  and  she  will  receive  no  more  education. 
Really  she  will  be  considered  quite  a well-educated 
girl. 

There  are  many  children  in  Cuba  who  do  not 
go  to  school  at  all,  although  the  country  has  a law 
requiring  them  to  be  educated  to  a certain  extent. 
The  law  is  not  enforced,  however ; so  these  children 
run  all  over  the  streets  and  make  disturbances  out- 
side schoolrooms  and  church  windows. 

The  saddest  thing  about  the  children  of  Cuba 
is  that  they  do  not  know  and  love  Jesus  Christ  as 
He  wants  them  to.  They  have  no  Bible ; for  all  the 
Catholic  Bibles  are  in  the  churches,  and  they  are 
written  in  Latin.  The  children  would  tell  you,  if 
you  should  ask  them,  that  they  have  a Bible ; but 
upon  seeing  it,  you  discover  that  it  is  a prayer  book. 
Many  of  them  do  not  know  what  a Bible  is.  If 
one  should  obtain  a Bible,  the  priest  would  prob- 
ably take  it  away  from  him. 

The  people  worship  the  saints  and  believe  that 
they  have  power  to  answer  prayers  and  to  perform 
miracles.  There  are  many  images  in  the  churches, 
and  each  one  is  supposed  to  represent  some  saint. 
The  children  hear  more  about  the  saints  than  they 
do  about  anything  else.  One  little  girl  told  her 
teacher  that  Satan  was  a saint;  another  said  that 
God  was  a saint. 

During  Easter  week  the  churches  are  full  of 
people  trying  to  obtain  forgiveness  for  their  sins. 
Every  good  Catholic  has  to  go  to  church  during 
Easter  time.  On  the  Sunday  before  Easter  they 
had  a special  service  to  celebrate  the  triumphal  en- 


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try  of  Jesus  (Palm  Sunday).  Every  one  in  the 
church  was  given  a palm  branch  which  the  priests 
had  blessed;  then  they  marched  in  a procession 
around  the  church.  These  palm  branches  are  sup- 
posed to  keep  away  evil  spirits  and  disease.  On 
Thursday  the  bishop  washed  the  feet  of  twelve  beg- 
gars in  celebration  of  the  washing  of  the  disciples^ 
feet.  On  Friday  they  put  the  image  of  Christ  on 
the  cross.  When  they  took  it  down  that  evening 
they  put  it  in  a glass  coffin,  where  it  stayed  until 
nine  o’clock  Saturday  morning.  Thousands  of  peo- 
ple visited  the  church  to  kiss  the  image  of  Jesus. 
During  the  time  that  the  image  was  in  the  coffin 
the  heavens  were  supposed  to  be  closed.  No  sins 
could  be  forgiven;  but  at  nine  o’clock  the  bells  be- 
gan to  ring  and  the  cathedral  clock  to  chime  to 
notify  the  people  that  the  heavens  were  opened 
again. 

One  little  girl  told  a missionary  that  she  could 
not  play  Friday,  but  would  have  to  be  very  sad,  for 
God  was  dead.  The  children  really  believe  that 
God  dies  every  year. 

Cuban  children  think  that  Jesus  is  an  image 
with  a crown  of  thorns  on  His  head  and  a wound  in 
His  side.  They  do  not  know  that  He  arose  from 
the  dead  to  save  them  and  that  He  can  fill  their 
lives  with  a blessed  peace  and  joy. 

— By  Manelle  M.  Forster,  in  leaflet  published 
by  Woman’s  Missionary  Council,  M.  E. 
Church,  South. 


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